


A Neighbourly Affair

by yasminkhxns



Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Adultery, Affairs, Drama, F/F, Fluff, Human!Doctor, Neighbours AU, Smut, human!AU, look this started out a joke, rom-com kinda?, so much drama, thasmin, the thirteen/master is basically one sided btw so don't read it for them lol, this is so ridiculous i don't even know how to tag it, this is tropey af
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2020-05-05
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:21:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 28,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23843683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yasminkhxns/pseuds/yasminkhxns
Summary: “Hiya!” she calls out with an enthusiastic wave as she crosses her garden to meet the younger woman. “I’m Jemma, from next door.” she grins, offering a hand.“Hi Jemma from next door, I’m Yasmin.” The young woman accepts her hand with a surprisingly strong grip that sends an odd fluttering sensation through Jemma’s chest, “My friends call me Yaz.”---AKA: the most ridiculous neighbours AU you will ever read
Relationships: Thirteenth Doctor/The Master (Dhawan), Thirteenth Doctor/Yasmin Khan
Comments: 104
Kudos: 149





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> ok look,,,,,, first things first. if fics about people having affairs and shit (even though this is honestly a massive joke) aren't your thing then just don't read or comment bc i ain't here for that. and yes i know its a kind of bad lesbian trope in big hollywood movies but this is like,,,, 1 fic in a million i'm sure we can survive 
> 
> secondly, this literally started off as a joke in a gc and then i said i would write it as a joke, actually started writing it, and then 17k words later,,,, this happened. it was originally gonna be one massive one-shot but then i figured it was probs a bit too long for that and worked better split into two parts so expect part 2 tomorrow
> 
> thirdly,,,,,, i blame caitlin, eleanor and alice for this 
> 
> and finally, if you wanna read this and try avoid the smut then i honestly don't know if it's worth it bc there is literally so much smut in this i'm actually ashamed of myself (part 2 more so than part one)
> 
> ANYWAYS for the people who are actually gonna read this i respect u, love u, and hope u enjoy 
> 
> p.s. if u see an grammar mistakes feel free to let me know bc i proofread this with alcohol in my system xx

It's early when the van pulls up outside the house next door, waking Jemma from her light slumber through the open window, gentle rays of sun peeking through thin curtains. Her husband quietly snores away next to her, dead to the world, mouth ajar as a tiny puddle of drool seeps onto his pillow. Jemma grimaces at the sight, slipping out of bed to pad over to the window and concede to her nosiness. 

The door to the drivers side of the van pops open, and out steps a young woman, clad in dark jeans and a burgundy hoodie, her long dark hair in a loose braid over her shoulder. Out the passenger side steps two people Jemma presumes to be her parents, an older man and woman. From the short distance away it's easy to spot the resemblance. 

The young woman makes her way up to the front door of the house, unlocking it before heading inside with a beaming grin, and Jemma can practically feel her excitement through the window. 

The house sold a short while ago and she’s been intrigued ever since as to who had bought it. Knowing she should try to make an appearance at some point in the day before the neighbour opposite the newcomers did, Jemma heads downstairs to flick the kettle on and sort her breakfast. 

Her breakfast pertaining to a handful of custard creams. 

As Jemma leans against the counter and dips her biscuits, she ponders the buzz of excitement in her chest at the thought of finally getting some new neighbours. The people that used to live next door were… alright, they were just too boring for her. Hopefully this lot would be better.

By the time she readies herself for the day, dressed in tight black jeans and a rainbow clad t-shirt, white undershirt covering her arms, Jemma peeks through the kitchen window to find only the younger woman left, the van gone, and two boxes remaining on the pavement. 

She figures now is the perfect opportunity. 

“Hiya!” she calls out with an enthusiastic wave as she crosses her garden to meet the younger woman. “I’m Jemma, from next door.” she grins, offering a hand.

“Hi Jemma from next door, I’m Yasmin.” The young woman accepts her hand with a surprisingly strong grip that sends an odd fluttering sensation through Jemma’s chest, “My friends call me Yaz.”

Dropping Yasmin’s hand, Jemma points to the house, “You and your family moving in then?”

Yasmin shakes her head. “Nope. Just me. Finally got my own place. It’s proper exciting.” Her gaze wanders to Jemma’s home, “What about you? On your own? Or with a–” Her gaze wanders to the rainbow emblazoned on Jemma’s top, “–partner?” 

“Husband.” Jemma affirms, watching as something changes behind Yasmin’s eyes. 

“Oh,” Yasmin nods slowly, eyebrows lifting, “that’s sweet.” 

Jemma frowns at her apparent disinterest, but ignores it for now. “Need any help?” she asks, pointing to the boxes. 

Yasmin glances between Jemma and the boxes, “If you don’t mind? My parents came with me to help me move in, but I swear I took most of it inside anyway. My arms are killing me.”

“No problem at all.” Jemma grins, lifting one of the boxes and heading toward Yasmin’s house. The other woman follows behind her, calling out when they pass through the front door, “Just take it through to the lounge on your left.” 

Once the boxes are placed down, both women blow out an exerted breath and Yasmin wipes the sweat from her brow and pushes her hoodie sleeves up. “God moving is hard work. Still gotta unpack yet.” she sighs, running a hand down the side of her face, “This is where my procrastination kicks in. Cup of tea? I think my parents at least plugged the kettle in and I _know_ they brought emergency teabags.” 

Jemma laughs at Yasmin’s offer, “Procrastinating _already_ , Yaz?” 

Yasmin grimaces, “Urgh _—_ I am, aren’t? I’m the worst for it sometimes.” she turns to head toward the kitchen before pausing, spinning back around to catch Jemma’s gaze, “Yaz?” she says with a smirk.

“Yep. I’m calling you Yaz, ‘cause we’re friends now. I’ve just decided for the both of us.” 

Yaz laughs, eyes sparkling as she does, and Jemma unconsciously thinks she wouldn’t mind hearing the sound again. 

“I can work with that.” Yaz replies when her laughter calms into an easy smile. 

Yaz pulls two mugs and a teaspoon from a box resting on the work surface and a tupperware containing the ‘emergency teabags.’ 

“You don’t have any sugar in there, do you?” Jemma asks, Yaz still leant over the box.

“Erm…” after a quick rummage through another box, Yaz pulls out a bag of sugar. “I do!” she smiles, pearly white gleaming as she places the bag on the side and tugs it open, “How many?”

Jemma’s eyes scrunch up as her lips pull into a tight, slightly embarrassed smile, “Five.”

“Fi–” Yaz’s eyes widen, “Five?”

“Five.” Jemma affirms, and Yaz chuckles.

“I hope you don’t drink much tea then.” Yaz quips.

“I drink loads,” Jemma responds, voice full of guilt.

Yaz just shakes her head with a grin as the kettle boils, pouring hot water into the mugs and letting the teabags stew as they idly chat. 

Passing Jemma’s insanely sweet tea to her, she takes it from Yaz’s hand with a thank you, blowing on it before taking a small sip with a delighted hum. “That’s perfect, thank you. You make it way better than my husband. I think he lies about how much sugar he puts in.”

Yaz takes a sip of her own sugarless tea before shooting a pointed look at Jemma’s mug, “I don’t blame him.”

There’s a brief lull in conversation before Yaz speaks again, “So how long have you been married then?” 

“Six years. Me and Omar met at university. I was doing physics and he was doing biology. Bumped into each other during freshers week and that was it.” 

“Wow. Long time then?” 

“Yeah,” Jemma breathes wistfully. “Doesn’t feel like uni was that long ago, but it’s been years. We did a bit of travelling after we graduated, then settled here.” Jemma takes another sip of her tea, “What about you? Do you have anybody, Yaz?”

Yaz shakes her head, “No. I did this time last year, but we split up.”

“Oh I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s ok. She got a teaching job in London and I wasn’t prepared to move that far. Things were kind of rocky anyway, so it just sort of, fizzled out naturally. Was kind of mutual, so it could’ve been a lot worse.” 

The thought of _‘she’_ sticks in Jemma’s head for reasons unknown when there’s a knock on the currently open front door. 

“Hello?” 

Jemma recognises the voice instantly.

“Oh no,” she mutters under breath and Yaz gives her confused frown, “Hi Karen!” she calls out, putting on her best smile.

“Jemma?” Karen calls back as she rounds the corner to the kitchen.

“Yeah, I helped Yaz move a couple boxes in this morning. Yaz, Karen. Karen, Yaz.” she introduces.

Yaz offers a hand that Karen takes with a quiet squeak. “You’ve got quite the grip, Yaz.” Karen jokes, and Yaz’s lips pull in a tight smile.

“Yasmin, it’s Yaz to my friends.” she corrects, and Jemma pulls her lips between her teeth to subdue a laugh. 

“Oh, well, lovely to make your acquaintance _—_ Yasmin.”

Yaz nods at Karen’s own correction, picking her tea back up and shoving her free hand in her jean pocket. “You too.” Yaz replies, taking a sip of drink. 

“Is it just you, then?” Karen presses, not reading the slightly awkward air she’s brought to the room.

“Yep. Just me.” Yaz affirms shortly. 

“Oh. How, modern.”

Yaz frowns at the statement, Jemma already sensing the slight tension between the two women, “Right.” 

“Though I suppose you could bring a lovely man home to a house like this. Fit in with the rest of the neighbourhood?” Karen suggests, and Jemma swears she catches Yaz’s eyes flutter like she’s trying to suppress an eye roll. 

“I mean being a lesbian, I probably won’t do that.”

Jemma can’t stop the snort that escapes her, watching as Karen’s mouth gobs like fish as she stutters with what to say while Yaz just smirks into her mug. 

“How,” Karen scrambles for words, “Nice.” she remarks with a tight lipped smile, Yaz returning the expression expertly. “Right well, I’ll leave you to unpack, Yasmin. I’m sure I’ll see you around.”

“I’m sure you will.” Yaz replies curtly, watching Karen out the door before turning to Jemma. “Oh my god.”

“ _Don’t._ ”

“I did not move in opposite a _literal_ Karen.” 

“You did, I'm afraid, sorry.” Jemma apologises on her neighbours annoying behalf. 

“Now I see why you said _‘oh no’_ when she walked in, bloody hell.”

“Yeah well, at least you stood your ground and didn’t suck up to her like most people seem to.” 

“I”m a police officer, Jemma, it’s my job not to take anyone's shit.” she quips with a smirk.

Jemma’s cheeks redden slightly at the discovery of Yaz’s profession, “Oh, wow.” she breathes.

“Yep.” Yaz smiles with pride, “Recently promoted to Sargent.” 

“That’s ace!” 

Yaz chuckles, “Thanks. What about you? You mentioned physics earlier?” she trails off in wait of a response.

“I did!” Jemma grins, “I teach astrophysics at Sheffield uni.”

“Flippin’ heck, you’re smart then.” Yaz praises.

“At physics, yes. Everything else? No.” 

“Now I find that hard to believe.” 

“And why’s that?” Jemma questions.

“I like to think I’m a good judge of character,” Yaz claims, leaning back against the work surface, “And I reckon that you, Jemma, are very smart.” 

* * *

It’s another hour before Jemma leaves Yaz’s, and by the time she’s back home, Omar is up and dressed, sipping coffee at their kitchen table while he scrolls through a news app on his phone. “Morning, O.” she quips when she enters the room, brushing his shoulder with her hand as she walks past him to make a beeline for the kettle.

He simply grunts in response, and Jemma rolls her eyes as she makes her tea, “Just met the new neighbour, she’s lovely. You should pop ‘round and say hello if you get the chance.” 

“Okay.” he responds, but she knows he won’t. She can tell he’s just saying it to satisfy her. 

“Karen showed up though while I were over there.”

“God, that woman is insufferable.” he spits, and Jemma can feel the instant rage burning off him.

Omar and Karen don’t get on. They’ve made that very clear with the multiple shows they’ve put on for the street.

“Yes, well, Yaz is a police officer. So maybe, no more arguments in the street, yeah?” Jemma tries to persuade. 

Omar just huffs, scratching at his beard, “As long as she stays out my way.”

Jemma sighs as she pours milk into her tea. “I’m going up to the study to mark assignments.”

“Oh, Jemma?” Omar calls out before she reaches the door to the hallway, “I’ll be away again on work next week. Monday to Friday.”

“Again?”

“Yes, again. There’s nothing I can do about it, ok? That’s just the way it is.”

“And that’s what you always say.” Jemma huffs back before leaving the room. 

* * *

_31st October_

It’s hot, it’s stuffy, the music is too loud, and she’s bored. Though regardless, Jemma is aware her outfit is skimpier than Omar’s, so while he stands next to her in his Buzz Lightyear costume, she imagines he’s sweating to death.

When she glances him up and down again for the thirteenth time that evening, she can’t help the snort she lets out.

“Stop laughing,” he growls at her, yet his annoyance only makes her smile grow.

“Not having a good time, Buzz?” she patronises with a pout and he grumbles.

“Shut up, will you?”

“No. You know why? Because you got the me the _wrong_ costume, I get to take the piss out of how stupid yours is all night.” Jemma proclaims as she tugs at the uncomfortable fabric of her mini skirt.

“I already told you, I just picked up the first ‘Jessie’ costume I saw–”

“And it was the wrong one.” Jemma finishes for him. 

“Oh great,” Omar grumbles.

“What?” 

“Karen is coming over.”

“Oh for–”

“Hey guys!” an easily recognisable voice sounds from behind the pair, both of them spinning around to meet Yaz, all geared up in a Woody costume.

“Yaz!” Jemma exclaims, pulling her friend into a tight hug. The feel of Yaz’s body pressing against her own sends a pleasant warmth pooling her gut. The other woman’s presence never fails to improve her mood. “I didn’t think you could make it.”

“Neither did I!” A far more grating voice responds from behind Jemma. 

“Hi Karen.” Yaz speaks blandly to the woman over Jemma’s shoulder, “But yeah, there was a last minute change at work so I could take you up on the invite after all, thank you!” 

“Glad you could make it.” Karen smiles tightly back, “I host this party every year, just so you know, so don’t get any ideas newbie!” she jokes before moving on, though it’s clear to all three of them she isn’t joking, at all.

“She’s so annoying, I almost regret coming.” Yaz grumbles as she adjusts the bandana around her neck.

“I’m glad you did.” Jemma asserts, “At least I’ll have a bit more fun now.”

Omar scoffs, “Jemma, I’m _right_ here.” 

“Yeah, you are. And you’ve been in a right mardy mood ever since we got here. Come on, Yaz, lets go get you a drink.”

Before she can manage to walk away however, Omar grabs her hand, “Don’t I at least get a kiss before you ditch me for the night?” 

Jemma just smirks, pressing a small button on Omar’s costume near his jaw, activating a cheap plastic helmet to snap over his head. “No.” she states, yanking her hand from Omar’s and replacing it with Yaz’s. 

“Come on, let's get a shift on.” 

By the time they push their way through the busy lounge into the just as busy kitchen, Jemma is once again tugging at the fabric on her legs where her skirt rides up her thighs with every step. 

Yaz frowns in amusement at Jemma’s awkward movements while she pours herself a lemonade. “You alright there, Jem?”

“ _Ugh,_ no. I made the mistake of trusting O to get the costumes for tonight. I specifically told him multiple times, _not_ to get the ‘sexy Jessie’ costume. Just the normal one. And what did he do?” 

“He got the normal one then?” Yaz says in faux seriousness.

“Ha. Ha. you’re so funny.” she deadpans, trying to ignore the fluttering in her chest at Yaz’s responding grin. “Yaz, it’s literally the most uncomfortable thing I’ve ever worn.” Jemma looks Yaz up and down before realisation dawns on her, “Love the outfit by the way.”

“Thanks! I used this last year when me and Clara went to her work Halloween party. Funnily enough, she went as Jessie as well.”

“Ah, but did she go as ‘sexy Jessie?’” Jemma quips, striking the least sexy pose in the universe. 

Yaz laughs, “She did actually. Think you pull it off better though.” 

Jemma feels herself flush at the complement, “Surely not.”

“You do. You’ve got the legs for it. Clara was too short.” 

Cheeks pinkening further, Jemma inwardly blames the heat in her face on the wine in her hand. 

“Not drinking, Yaz?” she asks, fueling an abrupt subject change.

“No. I don’t drink. Part of my religion.” she replies with a casual shrug.

“Oh! Of course. Sorry.” Jemma says with a shake of her head, quickly focusing back on Yaz when she feels a warm palm on the exposed flesh of her arm.

“Don’t worry about it, Jem. I get asked it all the time.” Yaz says with a genuine smile. 

Jemma can feel her skin burning under the other woman’s touch, like sparks of electricity shooting up her arm and straight to her heart, igniting the buzzing feeling in her chest.

She continues trying to blame the sensation on the alcohol. 

There’s a quietly charged moment between them when their eyes lock, but they’re suddenly torn from the moment when someone pushes past Jemma and forces her to lose her balance. Yaz’s arm moves to wrap around her waist before she can fall.

“Woah! You ok?” 

“Yeah, I’m fine. It’s just these bloody heels and this bloody outfit! I could kill O. There’s a reason I never wear heels, Yaz, I can’t walk in them.”

Yaz just laughs, warm breath brushing past Jemma’s cheeks where their faces are close with Yaz’s arms still wrapping around her waist. It’s then that Yaz pulls back, fingers grazing lightly over Jemma’s ribs as she does so. Her gaze wonders over Jemma’s form with a smirk, and she feels her cheeks heat up at Yaz’s confidence.

“How high are those heels?” she asks with a laugh. 

“Almost three inches!”

“Bloody hell,” 

“I know!”

Yaz’s gaze continues its journey upwards, raking over her pale legs and strong thighs, lips pulling tight in amusement at the length and tightness of her skirt.

“Don’t,” Jemma warns.

“I didn’t say anything,” Yaz puts her hands up innocently.

“You didn’t have to.” she glares playfully.

Yaz’s eyes make their way up to Jemma’s low cut top, the fabric clinging tightly to her form and the cheap material scratchy and uncomfortable as she shifts on the spot. She looks down and frowns, “I don’t even have enough boob for this stupid top.”

Yaz just raises an eyebrow, “I think you make it work.” 

The statement reignites the tension between the two women, only for them to be interrupted by some of the other guests.

“Nice costumes!” It’s a young man and woman dressed as a cop and robber, their arms linked. Jemma doesn’t recognise them from the street, instead going on the assumption they probably live too far down the road for her to know them.

“Thanks!” she replies politely, “You too.”

“I wish our costumes were as good as yours. Picking a good couples costume is hard don’t you think?” The young woman asks innocently.

Jemma and Yaz look at each other awkwardly, and it’s Yaz who speaks up to correct her, “Oh, no, we’re not _—_ we’re not a couple.”

“Oh.” the other woman frowns, “Sorry. I just assumed because you’re Woody and Jessie, right?”

“Yeah.” Yaz confirms.

“What does that have to do with anything?” Jemma murmurs quietly to Yaz.

“They’re a couple in film. Did you not know that?”

Jemma shrugs, “I’ve not watched them.”

Yaz audibly gasps, “Wh _—_ you’ve not watched Toy Story?!”

“No. Not very good at watching films y’see. It means sitting down for too long. I get fidgety and then O tells me off.” she says as her face scrunches regretfully. 

“Oh my God.” 

“What?”

“They’re like _—_ some of my favourite films. _Ever._ It’s literally why I came as Woody. Dunno if I can be friends with you anymore after this newfound knowledge Jem, sorry.”

“Yaz!” Jemma chides, relaxing when Yaz just laughs. The sound is addictive, she’s quickly realising, wanting to do anything to hear it more and more.

The party carries on well into the evening, Yaz and Jemma glued to each other’s sides. Ending up mistaken for a couple on more than one occasion. At one point in the night, they briefly bump into Omar, only for him and Jemma to continue to bicker about their costumes while Yaz stands and watches with quiet amusement. 

After a couple more glasses of wine, Jemma starts to feel a considerable buzz from the alcohol in her system, unconsciously leaning into Yaz a little more who, she notes, does nothing to stop it. She knows she should be stopping herself, knows she shouldn’t gravitate to Yaz as much as she has for the past six months, yet, she can’t help it. There’s something about the other woman that’s magnetising, it inexplicably draws her in and Jemma knows she is guilty of unashamedly chasing the feelings Yaz summons inside her. It’s exciting, and worrying, and terrifying all at the same time. Yet right now, with the slight buzz of alcohol through her veins, Jemma’s guilt is murky, drifting away to the side as other feelings push forwards.

Yaz notices her quiet, shifting on the sofa next to her and away from her current conversation. “You alright, Jem?” 

Jemma’s mind continues to wonder, barely acknowledging Yaz’s concern as her gaze graviates from dark eyes to full lips. In her peripheral, she catches the way Yaz’s throat bobs. “Erm _—_ Jem?” 

Snapping out of her Yaz induced daze, Jemma shakes her head before putting her wine down on the coffee table in front of her.

_No more of that tonight._

“Yeah _—_ Yeah I’m fine. Fine and dandy, me. I promise. I’m just gonna,” she points a thumb over her shoulder, panic suddenly surging through her system, “pop to the toilet.”

Jemma shoots up off the sofa, pushing through throngs of people and out into the hall, heaving a breath as she rushes up the stairs to find a queue for the bathroom that’s far too long for her patience. 

“Bugger,” she mutters under breath, before remembering she’s had a tour of Karen’s house before and slipping down the hallway, everyone too busy chatting to notice her. Darting into Karen and her husband's bedroom, she locks herself in the adjoining en suite, slumping over the sink as she looks at herself in the mirror. 

Her hair is a little disheveled from the cowboy hat that’s been on her head all evening, the accessory now drooping over her upper back. The alcohol has left her eyes a tad bloodshot and her cheeks burning scarlet. She turns on the tap, splashing her face in an attempt to will away the heat in her cheeks and the other, more visceral heat burning in her gut. 

What is _wrong_ with her? Her _husband_ is downstairs. Her husband of _six years_ and all she can think about Yaz. Yaz’s floral perfume, Yaz’s deep brown eyes, Yaz’s laugh, Yaz’s smile _—_ Yaz’s lips and how much she wants to kiss them. 

Pressing her the ball of her palm to the bridge of her nose, Jemma groans in frustration at herself. Insisting, insisting, _insisting_ that she is _married._ To a _man_ . To her _husband,_ Omar. And she’s happy, isn’t she? 

To have been with him for so long she must be happy. Apart from his constant grouchiness, and her lack of need of affection from him. When all she wants to do is kiss Yaz and touch Yaz and hold Yaz. 

She can’t even remember the last time she had an orgasm, or even the last time they had sex –– because Omar is never there. He’s always away on work and when he is home he’s too tired to do anything. Not that Jemma even wants to have sex with him anymore.

_When had her life got so bland?_

It’s in that moment, Jemma realises. She doesn't like men. She’s just accepted the first man that has walked into her life and she’s gone with the flow because he made her feel the things she thought she was supposed to feel. He makes her laugh, she feels comfortable around him, she loves him, but she’s not _—_ _in_ love with him. When she looks back on it, she realises now it's like she’s just married her friend. 

And all it took is six months knowing Yasmin Khan for her to realise this. 

A knock on the door pulls Jemma from her inner conflict.

“Jemma?” 

Yaz. Of course it is.

“One sec!” she calls back, wiping away the tears she didn’t realise she’d been crying.

Opening the door, Yaz’s face is the picture of worry, her concern only increasing when she spots the red rim of Jemma’s eyes and the damp tracks on her cheeks. “Jemma? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing I’m fine,” she insists, shaking her head. “I’m fine, honestly, I’ll be back down in a minute, Yaz, I just needed a breather.”

“No, come on, what’s wrong?” Yaz is nothing if not stubborn, pushing the door open further and forcing herself into the cramped en suite, locking the door behind her. “I missed you down there. This party is pretty crap without you.” 

Jemma huffs a watery laugh. No point in hiding her upset now, not with Yaz seeing right through her. “I’m just–” her bottom lip trembles as she looks up at the ceiling, willing tears not to fall, “I’m just feeling a little confused is all, I dunno.” 

Covering her face with her hands and dipping her chin, Jemma takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly in an effort to calm down.

“Hey, hey, it’s ok,” Yaz gently cups Jemma’s arm, her thumb running soothingly over flushed skin, “what’s confusing you, Jemma?”

It’s a now or never moment, regardless of the ring still glinting mockingly on her finger. So Jemma uses the liquid courage still flowing through her system and takes a regretful plunge, “You.” she mumbles into her palms. 

Yaz’s thumb pauses in its movements, “What?”

Jemma groans, nerves spiking and adrenaline pumping as she pulls her hands away from her face to look Yaz dead in the eye, “You, Yaz. _You_ confuse me.” 

Yaz frowns, mouth opening and closing as she struggles to come up with a response. “I _—_ what do you mean?”

Huffing out a breath through her nose, Jemma pushes on, she’s admitted now, she may as well go all out, “Ever since you moved in, ever since I _met_ you. I’ve started to feel things differently. When I’m not with you, I can’t stop thinking about you. And when I _am_ with you, I want to do things with you that I should want to do with my husband who is _—_ God he’s literally downstairs,” she states as she runs a stressed hand through her hair, “I thought I loved O, but the time I spend with you, it makes me realise I don’t love him the way I should. I do love him, but not like a wife should love a husband _—_ I don’t think I ever have.”

“Jemma–”

“Please let me finish, Yaz.” 

Yaz nods, allowing her to continue. 

“What I’m trying to say is, I’ve conformed to a lot of things I shouldn’t have in my life, and it’s you that’s made me realise that. You’ve made me realise that I like women the way I _thought_ I liked men. I like _—_ I like you, Yaz. A lot.” she finishes, a pointed look signalling Yaz to talk.

“You have a husband,”

“I do.”

“Why did you tell me this?”

“Because I think you feel the same way.” 

The accusation makes Yaz freeze, feeling caught out in what is rapidly turning into a messy situation. “I–”

“You do, Yaz, I _know_ you do. It’s more obvious to me than ever now.”

“Even if I did,” Yaz sighs, “why would it matter?”

“Why would it not?”

“Because you’re married, Jemma!” 

There’s a heavy silence, both women’s eyes locked intensely, a charged tension suffocating the room. 

“I love him, and I don’t want to hurt him,” Jemma speaks quietly, eyes wide and glistening, “but I want you.” 

Yaz’s features soften, a sad smile tugging a her lips, “Jem–”

Whatever Yaz is about to say doesn’t get finished, lost to the depths of the room as Jemma pushes her back against the door and crashes her lips against Yaz’s own. At first, the other woman doesn’t respond, whether it’s out of shock or reluctance, Jemma isn’t sure. She’s about to pull away when Yaz finally kisses back, lips moving messily against Jemma’s, too caught up in the moment to take their time with what’s happening.

Jemma’s hands curl around the back of Yaz’s neck, pulling her close as Yaz’s fall to rest on her hips and roam up and down her sides, setting her skin alight with every path they trace. Feeling a tongue experimentally swipe along her lower lip, Jemma parts hers to grant Yaz access, moaning into her mouth when she does so. 

Yaz’s hands scramble to pull Jemma’s top from her skirt, fingertips barely pushing under the fabric when a loud bang makes them spring apart. The noise is followed by cheering, and that’s when both women realise it’s the pop of a champagne bottle. It’s also the instant flash of fear that they’d been caught that came with the bang that sobers Jemma up instantly. She steps back, processing what she’s just done with a trembling gasp.

“Jemma?”

Fingers touching her lips, Jemma’s gaze flicks back and forth between Yaz and the floor, “I _—_ I’ve gotta go.”

“Jemma?!” Yaz calls out as Jemma pushes past her, unlocking the bathroom door with shaking hands and darting out the room as she makes a beeline for the front door. She thinks she hears Yaz call for her again, but the blaring sound of the _Spice Girls_ thrumming through the speakers and the racket of everyone cheering, and the clinking of champagne glasses is all too much as she bursts out the front door and into the cool night of the empty street. Outside, the only sound is the scuttling claws of a cat crossing the road draped in the bright moonlight, its eyes wide when it catches sight of her. 

Shaking her head, Jemma makes her way home, mind racing and heart pounding out of her chest as she contemplates what the hell she has just done.

* * *

It’s been three days since the party, and it hasn’t stopped raining. The sound clatters against the windows and the wind whistles down the chimney. The weather is about as good as Jemma’s mood.

Omar is away on work and they’ve barely text, though now Jemma’s made her own personal discovery, scrolling back up she notices they never really text before anyway. Just another barely thriving aspect of her marriage, she supposes.

She hasn’t spoken to Yaz. Hasn’t seen her since the party, hasn’t seen her since they kissed hot and heavy in Karen’s bathroom. Just thinking about it sends embers sparking in the pit of her stomach, and it only furthers her guilt when all it takes is thinking about a night spent with O to put them out. 

Using the one day a week she works from home, Jemma heads to her study to focus on planning the second semester's lectures as distraction from her thoughts. Pulling her jumper a little higher around her neck as she waits for the heating to click on, she opens up her laptop, turns it on, and looks out the window while she waits for it to boot up. Only to spot Yaz in her kitchen, making a coffee, messy bun on the top of her head, clad in an oversized hoodie and pajamas shorts. Jemma almost chokes on air at the sight. 

From then on it’s almost impossible to concentrate, the scene burned in her mind, staying put no matter how much she tries to get rid of it. In half an hour, Jemma has managed to write three words, prompting her to stand from her desk with a groan of irritation and head downstairs to make a cup of tea. Sitting at the table and munching on a custard cream, Jemma can’t even enjoy the simple beverage and snack without thinking about the other woman. The change of scenery doing nothing to sate the image of Yaz in her mind, her legs in particular. 

Hoping a cold shower might be enough of a distraction, Jemma steps under the spray, nearly jumping out of her skin at the cool water beating down on her. When it becomes too much, goosebumps covering her from head to toe, she cranks the heat up with a pleased sigh, relaxing into the warmth of the room, a small smile spreading on her face. Her mind clears for a moment _—_ until it bombards her with Yaz once more, and the heat of the shower makes its way into her gut. 

Jemma relents.

Under the heat of the water and the steam masking the room, she allows her hand to dip lower until it finds a heat that burns hotter than anything else around her. Her fingers move quick against herself, needing the release but also needing to get through the guilt of what she’s doing. Her mind races with images of Yaz as she moves her fingers against herself, she thinks of the party, when she kissed her, and imagines the hand between her legs is Yaz’s own. It’s that very thought that makes her come. Her legs almost giving out and she props herself up against tiled walls to catch her breath.

Hot tears falling down her cheeks, Jemma slumps fully against the shower walls as she cries with the acceptance of how far gone she is on Yasmin Khan.

* * *

When it reaches the end of week, Jemma finally caves. Omar is back the following day, Yaz’s car is on the drive proving she’s still in, and not seeing the other woman is driving Jemma up the wall. It’s like Yaz is a drug, and Jemma can’t fight the addiction anymore. 

It’s early afternoon when she leaves her house, light clouds fluffing up the sky as the sun peaks through little gaps. The wind is still strong and bitter though, blowing blonde strands around Jemma’s face as she makes her way over to Yaz’s house. Her whole body is thrumming with anticipation, heart racing faster and faster with every step. 

There’s a tremble to her hand when she knocks on the door. 

Yaz answers with a short gasp of surprise, gaze running over Jemma’s form as though to confirm she’s actually there.

“Jemma?”

“Yeah.” There’s an awkward pause, “Can I come in?” 

Shaking herself out of her reverie, Yaz opens the door wider as she steps to the side, “Yeah, yeah of course. Come in.”

Yaz shows Jemma into the kitchen, offering her a seat that she doesn’t take, then a cup of tea that she politely refuses.

“Wow, there must be something really wrong then,” Yaz half jokes, worry etching itself into her tone.

“Yaz about the party–”

“It’s ok, Jemma.” Yaz interrupts.

“Huh?”

“I get it. I know you think it was a mistake now and I assume you’ve come ‘round here to let me down which I appreciate but–”

“What?” Jemma breathes, stopping Yaz short who only looks on with confusion in her eyes, “No. That’s not why I came ‘round here at all.” 

Yaz’s eyes are wide, sparkling with a tinge of hope that Jemma knows she can fulfill, “Then why did you?” she utters.

“Because _—_ " Struggling to find words, Jemma takes action instead. 

Closing the distance between them, Jemma’s hands bunch in the material of Yaz’s jumper, pulling her close and pressing their lips together. Yaz is prepared for it this time, anticipating Jemma’s actions as her hands run through blonde locks, moving to cup her cheeks and run her thumbs along sharp cheekbones. 

It starts out heated, the thrill of something new and exciting and wrong hitting them both as their mouths move hotly against one another. 

They only pull apart to come up for air, panting hot breaths against each other's mouths, foreheads pressed together. When Jemma’s eyes slowly flutter open, they meet the deep brown of Yaz’s, and she smiles.

“Are you sure this is what you want?” Yaz breathes, giving her an option, allowing her a way out before things take a complicated turn. 

It takes Jemma less than a second to reply.

“Yes.” 

Leaning back in, Yaz grants Jemma the delicious pressure she craves, their kiss more gentle this time as the two women start to learn each other. Her hands move up to rest on the sides of Yaz’s neck, her pulse thrumming wildly under her fingertips when she parts Yaz’s lips with her tongue to explore her mouth, delighting in the breathy moan the action summons from the other woman’s throat. 

Kissing Yaz is nothing like kissing Omar. Yaz’s lips are soft, her movements gentle and calculated, Omar’s lips are rough, his beard scratching her chin. Yaz kisses Jemma with everything she has, pulling her close and holding her tight, Omar doesn’t. 

Soon enough, Jemma finds herself pressed against the counter, arms wrapping around Yaz’s neck as Yaz kisses her slow and deep but gentle. She feels cool hands slip under the fabric of her top, fingertips running along her torso and making the muscles clench as she gasps into Yaz’s mouth. 

When they finally separate, Yaz’s lips move to pepper kisses along her jaw and down neck, keeping the touch light, making sure not to leave any lasting marks as much as Jemma wants them, yet aware of the unfortunate consequences. 

Before Yaz’s hands can venture any further and her lips dip any lower, she pulls away, “Bedroom,” she states, her voice hoarse and all Jemma can do is nod, taking Yaz’s hand as she drags up the stairs.

Her back hits the bed and it almost takes her breath away, Yaz’s lips instead finishing the job when they meet her own. Their kisses turn increasingly heated as their hands roam over each other’s clothed forms, Yaz pulling away only for a moment to solve that very problem, tugging Jemma’s shirt over her head and discarding it over her shoulder. Mouth finding Jemma’s own again, Yaz’s hands are all over her, running up sides, down her stomach, narrowly avoiding her chest as they dip behind her to find the clasp of her bra. Briefly, Yaz hesitates, but Jemma nods against her and the next thing she knows her chest is bare, Yaz’s thumb brushing over a pebbled nipple as she swallows Jemma’s gasp.

Lips moving away from Jemma’s own, Yaz trails wet kisses down her neck, skimming along her collarbones and between her breasts until she takes a nipple between her lips, flicking it with her tongue. Jemma arches into the touch, hands scrabbling to card through Yaz’s hair, fingers twisting into dark curls when Yaz squeezes the soft swell of her chest.

Yaz’s name falls from Jemma’s lips when her hands venture further, popping the button of her jeans and tugging at the zip. “I’ve thought about this a lot, you know?” Yaz admits, and Jemma looks up to find her pupils blown wide, eye raking over her half naked form.

“You have?” Jemma replies with a throaty rasp.

“Yeah. Ever since I moved in. Never thought I’d get to do this.” When her jeans are discarded, Yaz pauses, hands gently squeezing at pale thighs, “Did you ever think about it?”

Jemma swallows hard, thinking back to earlier in the week, in the shower, Yaz on her mind, “Yes,” she breathes.

Yaz’s lips curl into a smirk, hands moving higher, and she’s sure Yaz can feel the heat emanating from between her thighs as her hands teasingly skim past where Jemma needs her most. “What did you think about?” Yaz asks, leaning down, lips inches from Jemma’s own, her gaze heavy and intense.

“You,” Jemma utters, mind reeling as she struggles to form sentences with Yaz’s fingers running up and down her inner thigh.

“Obviously,” she grins, “Tell me more.”

“Your fingers _—_ between my legs, lips on my neck. I was in the shower–”

“You thought about me in the shower?” Yaz gloats, fingers running a little higher, a little closer, and it makes Jemma squirm with impatience. 

“Yaz–”

“Did you get yourself off thinking about me in the shower, Jemma?”

“Yes,”

“I’ve thought about you while in the shower too.” 

Jemma’s eyes widen a little, “You have?”

“Yeah.”

“Wh _—_ what did you think about?” she utters against Yaz’s lips, now so close they brush together with every word.

“Why don’t I just show you?” 

A shiver runs down Jemma’s spine at Yaz’s words and she nods hastily, hips trying to chase Yaz’s touch, a sigh falling past her lips that Yaz captures when she finally runs her fingers over her through the fabric of her underwear. 

Yaz falters briefly in surprise, “God, you’re so wet. Is this what I do to you?” 

“Yes,” Jemma murmurs into a languid kiss, Yaz’s tongue licking into her mouth, exploring her taste while her fingers explore past the hem of elastic and into Jemma’s soaking wet heat. Her hips kick at the first feel of Yaz against her, gasping into her mouth as her arms wrap around her neck to pull her closer, chest to chest. 

Deft fingers run slow circles around Jemma’s clit, her hips rolling into the touch as Yaz’s free hand moves back to her breast, pinching a nipple between her fingers and tugging lightly, but enough to make Jemma cry out. 

Abruptly, Yaz pulls both her hands away with a disapproving whine from the woman underneath her, though almost instantly, Jemma can feel her underwear dragging down her legs. It’s only then that she realises she’s completely bare while Yaz is fully dressed.

“Erm _—_ " Jemma starts with slight embarrassment, “Can we even this out a bit please?” she nods to Yaz’s fully clothed form. 

“Oh! Yeah, sorry.” Yaz smiles, tugging her jumper over her head to reveal a set of _very_ toned abs that have Jemma flushing and adding fuel to the fire burning in her gut.

“Wow,” she breathes unconsciously and Yaz just laughs.

“Like what you see?”

“Yeah,” Jemma speaks with a lack of any shame. 

“Good.” Yaz affirms, pulling her sports bra over her head and shifting to pull her leggings off. “Better?” she asks, hands running from Jemma’s now raised knees to the tops of her thighs. 

“Much.”

Yaz takes a moment to let her eyes wander over Jemma’s naked form, and she fights the temptation to cover herself, hands twitching in the sheets. “You’re gorgeous, Jemma.” 

Jemma offers Yaz a bashful smile and ducks her chin. 

“I want to taste you.” Yaz states hoarsely, and the blood running through Jemma’s veins burns scalding hot at the open declaration, but it’s something she wants just as badly.

She gulps. “Please.”

Tying her hair back in a messy bun and settling between Jemma’s thighs, Yaz plants kisses along the sensitive skin, treading closer and closer to the heat burning between Jemma’s legs, her hips twitching with every kiss. “Yaz, please,” she pants, eyes squeezing shut with desperation as her hands fist in the sheets.

“What’s that, Jemma?” Yaz murmurs against her thigh, tongue darting out to trail along milky skin until she’s mere inches away, leaving Jemma hanging on the excruciating precipice. 

“I need you.”

When Yaz’s tongue takes its first swipe through Jemma’s wet heat, a guttural moan leaves her lips and her hips jolt off the bed. Her tongue works between Jemma’s folds, a broad stroke with the flat of her tongue gathering her wetness before caressing tight circles around her clit. Jemma’s hips roll against Yaz’s mouth, her moans increasing in volume as Yaz adds more pressure, her breathing picking up and her heart pounding when she feels a push at her entrance. Looking down, Jemma finds Yaz’s eyes on her, asking a silent question while her mouth works against her. The sight alone is enough to almost make Jemma come, but she holds it back, instead nodding her consent to the woman between her legs.

“Yes, please.” she begs, head lolling back when Yaz presses a single digit past her entrance, starting with slow, shallow thrusts as she sucks at her clit. “More,” Jemma pleads, and Yaz obliges, pressing her finger in up to the knuckle and crooking it slightly against her walls in a way that makes them flutter around her as Jemma keens off the bed. 

“ _God —"_ Jemma moans, thighs trembling as a hand falls over her eyes, the other grabbing at the bun loosely holding Yaz’s hair in place, a deep moaning escaping her when Yaz pushes a second finger inside her and increases her pace. With every thrust, her fingers curl and brush just the right place to leave Jemma writhing in the sheets as her climax rushes toward her, burning hot and tight in her gut as she tries to hold on. “Close _—_ –” she manages to stutter, “Yaz, I’m so close I–” 

At her words, Yaz pumps her fingers hard and fast, mouth moving away from her core. The ministrations on her clit are replaced by her thumb running tight circles over the swollen bud while Yaz’s lips move upwards to find Jemma’s own. “Come on, Jemma.” Yaz murmurs against, mouth, “Come for me.” 

Yaz kisses her hard and deep, dipping her tongue into her mouth so Jemma can taste herself for the first time. All the sensations combining is what brings her to her climax. The taste of herself on Yaz’s tongue, Yaz’s fingers pumping deep inside her, her thumb putting pressure on her throbbing clit, Yaz’s body pressing flush against her own. She moans loudly when her orgasm hits, barely kissing Yaz as they breathe against each other, every muscle going taut as her back arches off the bed and her toes curl and thighs shake. She swears she blacks out for a second until she realises Yaz isn’t slowing down, a second orgasm washing over her and leaving her a trembling, panting mess in Yaz’s arms. The brunettes guides her through them both, eventually slowing to a gentle stop as she kisses her tenderly, pulling her fingers out and slumping to the side, both of them trying to catch their breath. 

The air in the room is cool, and the sheen of sweat covering Jemma’s body makes her shiver with goosebumps, but the feeling is refreshing, almost grounding as she comes to her senses. 

“Wow _—_ " is all she can mutter, her brain still foggy with arousal, and she just about catches Yaz’s breathy laugh at her side.

“Yeah,” she hears her agree. 

“I wanna do that to you,” Jemma says, turning her head to find Yaz’s gaze. Something darkens in her eyes at the statement, and Yaz reaches out a hand to find Jemma’s and pull her on top of her. 

“Well, I’m not gonna say no.” she chuckles and Jemma grins, quickly tugging at Yaz’s underwear and throwing it across the room. 

She kisses her as her fingers dip down into Yaz’s heat to find her soaking and ready, the other woman sighing in relief at the touch. For a moment, it makes Jemma falter. Yaz notices.

“Jemma? You alright?”

She shakes her head lightly, “Yeah I just _—_ well I’ve not done this with a woman before,” she admits with a hint of embarrassment, “What if I’m rubbish?”

“Jemma,” Yaz sits up, “You won’t be rubbish, I’ll guide you through it, ok? If you need me to.” 

“Ok,” she nods, leaning into the lazy kiss Yaz grants her as she finds Jemma’s wrist and guides her downwards, back to the heat searing between her legs. She moves her fingers over Yaz’s clit in clunky ministrations to start with, not that Yaz seems to care by the way her hips jump.

“Sorry,” she breathes heavily, “It’s not gonna take much,” she admits with an obvious suggestion in her eyes as to the reason why.

Yaz’s head falls against Jemma’s shoulder when her hand moves to her chest, brushing her thumb over a dusky nipple as her fingers dip lower between Yaz’s legs, seeking a different kind of heat that Yaz is all too happy to offer her. 

“Inside,” she moans, hand gripping Jemma’s forearm when she pushes two fingers past her entrance with ease. She thrusts her fingers deep and fast, learning Yaz’s cues as her moans increase in volume.

Hand seeking out Jemma’s own, Yaz pulls it down from her breast to her between her legs to press against her clit, guiding her to move her fingers against the swollen bud in languid circles before moving to slink an arm around her neck and pull her into a kiss. 

Jemma swallows Yaz’s moans as she feels her thighs shake underneath her, kissing her breathless until their foreheads are pressed together and their eyes lock. “Harder,” Yaz insists, and when Jemma does just that, the brunette clenches around her fingers and her body tenses beneath her.

Yaz comes hard, a guttural moan leaving her lungs as she pants, chest heaving with the hot breaths that brush against Jemma’s cheek. When she finally relaxes, Jemma pulls her hands away, wiping them against the sheets before bringing them up to cup Yaz’s face and kiss her slowly as she smiles into it.

“Jemma, I promise you now,” Yaz pants, when she reluctantly pulls away from Jemma’s lips, “You are not rubbish at that.”

They both laugh, and Jemma plants a butterfly kiss to Yaz’s lips. “Want me to prove it some more?” she asks with a suggestive raise of her eyebrow and a smirk on her lips.

“Yes I do.” Yaz affirms, pulling Jemma back down into the sheets with a yelp. 

Yet, before she can get chance, there’s a knock at Yaz’s door. Both women freeze, eyes locking, wide and fearful.

“Who’s that?” Jemma asks with a slight tremble.

“No idea.” Yaz says, carefully guiding Jemma off her and jumping out of bed to throw her clothes on. 

Jemma does the same, ignoring the fact she’s only managed to fasten one hook on her bra as they make their way downstairs. Perching on the edge of the sofa, Jemma stays in the lounge while Yaz answers the door, and when she hears the voice on the other side of it, she can’t help the way she rolls her eyes. 

“Hi, Karen.” she hears Yaz reply dully, and Jemma has to stifle a laugh at the reminder of how much two women dislike each other.

“So I was just doing my cleaning, and I found this in my ensuite.” 

“Oh, that’s–” 

“The sheriff badge from your costume, yes?”

“Erm _—"_ Yaz pauses, “I guess?” 

“I was just wondering how it managed to get there is all, when my bedroom was off limits at the party.” Karen’s tone is accusatory, and Jemma can sense Yaz’s irritation from where she sits just around the corner. She just hopes being a police officer means Yaz can keep her cool.

“Must’ve been one of your dogs nicking it.” Yaz lies expertly and Jemma feels an odd sense of pride.

“Wha _—_ "

“Reckon it must’ve fell off downstairs at some point and they’ve took it something. Thanks for bringing it back though.” she says with a patronising lilt to her tone. 

Jemma has to hold back a laugh. Karen is still yet to realise Yaz can give as good as she gets. 

“My _—_ my dogs aren’t allowed in the bathroom. You _—_ "

“Well I don’t know what to tell you then, Karen. Maybe one of them was just naughty.”

“My dogs _—_!”

“Anyway thanks for bringing this back, Karen. You’re a star! Like this I guess. See ya!” she finishes, ignoring how the other woman stumbles over her words and shutting the door in her face with the click of a lock. 

Heading back into the living room, Yaz just stands in the hallway holding the sheriff badge. A few seconds later, both women burst into laughter. 


	2. Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> welcome to part 2!!
> 
> this part of the fic has so much filth i'm actually ashamed of myself 
> 
> can't really think of much else to say this time apart from thank you for all the support on the first chapter!! it means the world honestly especially when you don't know how something is going to be received lmao 
> 
> anyway, i hope you love drama because this GOT IT

_2 months later_

Since their first time spent together, Jemma and Yaz haven't slowed down. When opportunity strikes, they’re around each other’s houses, falling into bed together time and time again. 

They still do everything they used to do before they started their affair. They go for coffee and lunch. They have movie nights and dinner at each other’s houses. And nobody suspects a thing… well, apart from Karen, they think. But then she’s just extremely nosy and they brush it off as just that, always sticking her nose in other people’s lives.

It’s easy, with Omar away on work a lot, for them to get away with seeing each other more intimately, and with everyone else who lives close enough to them on the street just assuming they’re close friends, it means they don’t really have to sneak about. 

Hence why they find themselves curled up on Yaz’s sofa, blanket strewn over them while a film plays on the TV. Jemma’s head is in Yaz’s lap while fingers gently card through silky blonde locks and she leans into the touch with a relaxed hum. She’s not really concentrating on what they’re watching, her focus falling to the fingernails scratching lightly at her scalp. It's rare for her to be able to lie still for so long, Yaz’s presence having a calming effect on her as her eyelashes flutter when she moves to tickle at the back of her neck. If she was with Omar, he would’ve told her off for fidgeting at the other end of the sofa by now.

Another fifteen minutes go by before Jemma moves, sitting to top up her glass of wine. She takes a long sip before setting it back down on the coffee table and shifting to face Yaz completely. 

“This film is boring.” she smirks with suggestion, eye dropping to unashamedly roam over Yaz’s form. 

Eyes darkening and lips pulling into a smirk of her own, Yaz’s feet drop from the sofa, planting on the ground as she gestures Jemma over with a tilt of her head. “Come here, babe.” 

Jemma straddles Yaz’s lap and cups her neck with her hands, the brunette’s pulse jumping under her palm. Gently stroking the tip of her thumb along Yaz’s jaw, she leans in with a smile, pressing a delicate kiss to Yaz’s lips with a sigh before tugging her bottom lip between pearly whites. Yaz breathes a quiet, throaty laugh, the sound vibrating against Jemma’s palms and sending a shock of heat straight between her legs.

Yaz’s hands slink under Jemma’s woolly jumper, tracing the expanse of her lightly toned stomach and round her back to run her fingertips down her spine in a way that sends goosebumps rising over Jemma’s skin. Yaz’s hands soon find the fastenings of Jemma’s jeans, deftly unbuttoning and unzipping them before her hand dives past the fabric of her underwear and straight into molten heat, Jemma’s hips jumping at the sudden sensation. 

“You’re so ready for me,” Yaz grins against her lips and Jemma chuckles lightly.

“Really wasn’t focused on the film.”

“I can tell.” 

Yaz rubs lazy circles around Jemma’s clit, her free hand trailing upwards to push under her bra. She ghosts her thumb over an already hard nipple before cupping her fully and squeezing lightly. Hand falling from Yaz’s neck, Jemma brings it up to cover the other woman’s, encouraging her to grab at her more roughly as she rolls her hips against Yaz’s fingers. “You want it harder, babe?” Yaz teases with a quirking brow.

“Please,” Jemma begs, letting out a squeak that she would never admit to when Yaz’s hands pull away to move one under her thigh and the other to her back, lowering her until her back falls gently against the sofa cushions. She feels a flare of heat rush through her at the show of Yaz’s core strength.

Yanking roughly at her jeans, Jemma lifts her hips to help rid of them, her underwear soon following as Yaz sits back on her haunches, fingers curling under the crook of Jemma’s knee and lifting it over the back of the sofa. “Keep that there.” Yaz commands, her domineering tone leaving Jemma squirming as she nods hastily. 

Yaz’s hand slides down her supple thigh until she reaches Jemma’s core, running her fingers through slick folds in a teasing manner. Jemma can feel her touch, but it's not enough pressure to _do_ anything. Lifting her hips in an attempt to chase the heavier touch she craves, Jemma makes a little whining noise when Yaz revokes her touch entirely. 

“ _Yaz—"_ Jemma pleads, forcing herself not to squeeze her thighs together to relieve the pressure. 

“Jemma,” Yaz smirks cockily as she leans over her, one hand resting at the side of her head while the other has her slick fingers running over her kiss swollen lips. 

“Open.” she requests, and Jemma does, taking Yaz’s fingers into her mouth, tongue licking them clean of her own arousal, a quiet moan muffled by her filled mouth. When Yaz slowly pulls them out Jemma gasps, though it stutters on its way out at the sight of Yaz’s blown out pupils, swirling with something hot and raw and everything Jemma wants. Hand now cupping her chin, Yaz pulls at Jemma’s lower lip with her thumb before granting her a forceful kiss, a little messy, their teeth clashing as Jemma groans divinely into it. 

So caught up in the feel of Yaz’s lips against her and her tongue in mouth, Jemma’s whole body almost jolts when Yaz presses two fingers inside her and starts up a punishing pace. She pumps hard and deep and to the knuckle with every thrust, Jemma’s hands scrambling for purchase in Yaz’s hoodie, hands grasping tight at the baggy material. 

Their kisses slow as Jemma struggles to keep up, their lips breaking for her to pant hotly against Yaz who shoves her hand up her top and gropes roughly at her breast, tweaking a nipple between her fingers as her mouth moves to press hot kisses to her neck.

“ _Ah —_ Yaz! God, more, please,” she manages, back arching and hips rolling when Yaz presses a third finger in with no resistance, the ball of her palm bumping Jemma’s clit with every hard thrust. 

Jemma is desperate to drape her leg over Yaz’s back, the limb starting to ache slightly from where it hangs over the top of the sofa and keeping herself spread wide for the other woman, yet, the slight ache only adds to her arousal, along with Yaz’s instance in keeping it in place. 

When her walls start fluttering around Yaz’s fingers, her thumb finds Jemma’s throbbing clit, rubbing it at the same fast pace as her fingers while Jemma cries out into the room, the film just white noise to them both now as Yaz rubs quickly over the slickened bud, “ _Ah — fuck,_ Yaz _._ I’m close, I’m so close _please–”_

“Hold on,” she murmurs against the shell of her ear and a shiver wracks Jemma’s spine.

“Yaz _—_ please, I can’t hold–”

“You can,” she affirms, “Just a bit longer.”

Her fingers still pump rapidly, her thumb and forefinger pinching a pert nipple as Jemma moans loudly, nearing the point of sobbing with desperation as she continues to beg for her release. 

The pressure burns like a wildfire in her gut, almost unbearable as her thighs shake with the rapidly building tension, so much that when Yaz finally speaks, Jemma thinks she might cry. 

“Come for me, Jem.” 

Jemma’s whole body shakes with her orgasm, a guttural moan ripping from her throat as her hips roll clumsily against Yaz’s fingers, her knuckles white with their grip in Yaz’s hoodie. Yaz’s fingers slow gradually until Jemma has to push them away with over sensitivity, her chest heaving and sweat forming on her brow, blonde strands sticking to the slightly damp skin there. 

After the roughness Yaz had just displayed, Jemma is almost surprised when Yaz cups her face and lifts her into a gentle kiss, pushing her hair out of her face with the lightest touch. When she pulls away, their noses brush as she rests their foreheads together. 

“You ok?”

“Yeah,” Jemma breathes “Yeah I’m good.”

“Wasn’t too much, was it?”

“No! No. It were brilliant, Yaz. You can do that again.”

A light chuckle, “I’ll take note.”

“You better.” 

“Films finished.” Yaz nods to the TV.

“Don’t care. It were boring anyway. This was much more fun.”

* * *

Popping the last piece of her sandwich in her mouth, Jemma stands to wash her plate when her phone rings beside her. Both Jemma and Omar’s gaze shift to the object vibrating its way closer to the table’s edge when Jemma picks it up and stands. 

“It’s, Yaz.”

Omar just grunts in disinterest as he goes back to reading his book. It’s another horror, Jemma notices, before tapping the green button on her phone. 

“Hello?”

_“Hey Jem, you ok?”_

“Yeah, you? What’s up?” 

_“You’ve gotta come around and see what’s been pushed through my door.”_ It sounds like Yaz is trying to hold back a laugh as she talks, and it piques Jemma’s increasing curiosity.

“What is it?” 

_“I–”_ Yaz snorts, actually _snorts_ on the line, _“I can’t even explain it you’ve just gotta come ‘round and see, ok?”_

“Ok gimme two mintues.”

_“Ok, see you in a sec. Bye!”_

“Bye!”

Less than two minutes later, Jemma is knocking on Yaz’s door, the other woman answering almost immediately. “Hey.”

“Hiya,” Jemma greets, waiting until the door is shut securely behind them before leaning in to leave a lingering kiss on Yaz’s lips. “So what’ve you got to show me then?”

“This.” Yaz states, lifting a printed letter into the air.

“Who’s it from?” Jemma asks as she takes the paper. 

“Just start reading and you’ll soon find out.”

As soon as her eyes start to flit over the words, it’s glaringly obvious from the first sentence;

_Dear Yasmin,_

_I have noticed you often go out for early morning runs, and I am afraid this strange behaviour of yours is affecting my dogs. Every time you run past my house (this being most mornings) you disrupt them, meaning they bark and often wake me and my children._

_Personally, I don’t think this is very fair of you as it means my poor Merlot and Malbec cannot peacefully live the lifestyle they had become accustomed to before you moved in._

_I was hoping you may notice the disruption you cause yourself and change your ways, but obviously you have been too ignorant to realise, hence why I have been forced to send this letter._

_If you chose to ignore this, then I will have to revert to calling the police._

_Regards,_

_Karen._

“Po _—_ Police?” Jemma looks up at Yaz whose lips are pulled tight in a quickly failing attempt to hold back laughter, “ _Call the police.”_ she relays, gobsmacked. “She did _not_ say she would _call the police.”_

“I know!” Yaz laughs, “I _am_ the bloody police! I mean for starters I don’t even know what she would tell them. I’m not breaking the law by running on a public footpath. She can call away for all I care. I could have a chat with whoever's on shift.”

“You should write that on the bottom of the letter and post it back,” Jemma jokes, eyes widening slightly when she sees the glint in Yaz’s eyes. “Yaz _—_ no.”

“You suggested it!”

“I was joking.”

There’s a pause _—_ it’s like a standoff, the two women staring each other down until a cheeky grin pulls at Yaz’s lips and Jemma knows she’s lost.

“Yaz–” Jemma starts, but then the other woman is off, rummaging through a draw in her kitchen until she pulls out a pen and scribbles in caps on the bottom of the bottom of the paper _‘I AM THE POLICE.’_

“Yaz, are you actually gonna post that?” 

“I am _—_ on my run tomorrow morning.” she grins as she folds the paper back into its creases.

“Oh my God,” Jemma laughs breezily as she shakes her head.

“What? I’ve learnt the hard way in my life not to take shit from people and I’m certainly not taking it from people like _Karen._ ” Dropping the letter on the table and stepping towards Jemma, Yaz slinks her arms around her waist, “It’ll be fine, I promise. And if she ever bothers you, let me know ok? And I’ll give her much more than a passive-aggressive letter.”

“Thank you, but I can hold my own against her, trust me.” 

“Okay.” Yaz accepts, leaning forward to brush her lips against Jemma’s, both of them smiling too much to kiss properly. 

* * *

It’s another month after that before Jemma and Yaz get to spend time together properly. Omar hasn’t been away much, meaning there’s no chance of Jemma and Yaz spending the night or day together with how their work shifts recently clash.

After being told off one too many times for fidgeting through a film, Jemma stands with the excuse of taking a shower. Heading up to their room, she pulls her phone out and clicks the call button next to Yaz’s name. It rings out three times before she picks up.

_“Hey Jem, you alright?”_

“Yeah, yeah. I’m fine,” she sighs, “Are you?”

_“Not too bad, just trying and failing to decide what to watch on Netflix.”_

There’s an awkward pause, and she can hear Yaz hesitate on the other end of the phone before she talks, _“Jem, you sure you’re ok?”_

“I miss you.” she whispers in quiet admission, her tone somber as she picks at the thread of her ripped jeans.

She hears Yaz sigh on the other end of the line, _“I miss you too, Jem. I wish you were here right now. I wanna see you and touch you.”_

Jemma is aware the sentiment is innocent, but her mind falls elsewhere, “Where would you wanna touch me?” 

It’s a gamble, and it’s risky, Omar is just downstairs, but she’s extending the invitation regardless. Seeing if Yaz will take the bait. The long pause is constricting, until Jemma finally gets the response she was hoping for.

_“That would depend on where you wanna be touched.”_

Standing from the bed, Jemma heads straight for the bathroom, locking the door and turning the faucet on, the shower head spurting out a powerful stream as the room starts to heat up. She leans against the wall next to the tub, cool tiles against her back as the sound of the shower covers her voice. 

“Between my legs _—_ I want you so bad, Yaz.” she rasps down the phone. 

She hears Yaz’s breath hitch, and it only adds to the heat spreading deep in her gut.

_“Touch yourself there, Jemma. Not inside though.”_ Yaz gently commands, and as Jemma’s hand dips below her jeans she wonders if Yaz is doing the same.

“What about you?” she can’t help but ask.

_“I’m with you, babe.”_ she confirms, and Jemma lets out a breathy moan at the thought of Yaz touching herself while her fingers run over her own clit, rubbing slow circles as she sighs down the receiver. 

_“I wanna touch you so bad, Jem. I wanna feel you everywhere. I can’t tell you what I’m gonna do to you when I can see you again.”_ Yaz’s voice is low and sultry and it sends a shiver through Jemma’s body and heat straight to her core.

“God, Yaz, I want you,” 

_“I know, baby.”_ There’s a pause, _“I want you to fuck yourself for me,”_

Jemma’s breath hitches at Yaz’s choice of words and she feels her fingers dampen more, “Inside?”

_“Yeah, inside.”_

Jemma’s fingers slide into her burning core, pumping slowly, making do with the restriction of her jeans, clenching around the intrusion when she hears Yaz moan down the line. 

As Yaz instructs Jemma, talking in ways that has her head falling back against the wall, she starts to feel herself flutter around her fingers, “Yaz I’m close,” she pants thrusting faster, thumb finding her clit and adding pressure to the sensitive bud that has her knees giving out.

_“Me too, Jem.”_ Yaz moans, _“Tell me when you’re gonna come.”_

It doesn’t take long, Jemma leaning heavily against the wall as her legs struggle to hold her up, “Yaz, Yaz, I’m _—_ " Her moans gets caught in her throat as she comes quiet but hard, her jaw slack and eyelids fluttering, hands still moving fervently between her legs. Almost straight after she hears Yaz’s moan loudly through the device and knows she’s coming too.

Neither woman says anything for a moment, just listening to each other breath heavily down the receiver as they calm down. “Can’t believe we just did that.” Jemma chuckles.

_“I know. You better go, Jem. Don’t want you getting caught.”_

“Yeah, ok. See you soon. I miss you.” she says longingly.

_“I miss you too. Bye.”_

“Bye.”

The call cuts off and Jemma drops down on the toilet lid, putting her phone to one side as she pulls her jeans off. The shower is still running and she’s still a little flustered so Jemma uses the opportunity, turning the temperature down and stepping under the spray as she tries not to think about the small thrill she got at the thought of getting caught.

Omar comes into the room as she’s getting ready for bed, pausing in the doorway and pointing back toward the bathroom. “That was a long shower.” 

Jemma just shrugs, “I was shaving.”

He simply nods in response, stepping further into the room to ready himself for bed too. 

Switching off her bedside lamp and slipping under the covers, Jemma lies on her back, gazing up at the ceiling and following the crack that’s growing slap bang down the middle of the plaster. It’s sort of ironic, really, that it lines up between her and Omar where he lies with his back to her. She stares at it like it's a metaphor for her life, her marriage, the crack growing bigger the longer she hides her affair. To ignore the wave of guilt she suddenly starts to feel wash over her, Jemma rolls onto her side and squeezes her eyes shut, her mind wandering to the very woman she’s been spending nights with, unbeknownst to her husband. 

She’s pulled out of her daydream by the very man, an arm hugging around her waist as she feels a scratchy beard rub at the back of her neck where he plants a kiss on her skin. Leaning up on his arm, he looms over her to catch her attention. 

“Jemma?” 

She turns her head to look up at him, “Yeah?” 

“Do you want to _—_ y’know?” 

Her face scrunches at the suggestion, “Not really in the mood, sorry.” 

His face falls, “Oh. Ok.” His arm removes itself from Jemma’s waist as he rolls back over to face away from her again, his breathing quickly evening out as he falls into slumber.

_Clearly not that bothered anyway, then._

Jemma sighs, glancing to her phone where it rests so temptingly on her bedside table. It doesn't take much for her to cave, reaching out for the device and bringing up her text conversation with Yaz.

Her thumbs hover for a moment before they begin to type out a message.

_Jemma [23:48]: I miss you, tonight was good though xx_

She quickly sends it off before locking it, holding it close to her chest under the covers as she waits for a response. It’s almost no time at all before it buzzes with a response.

_Yaz [23:49]: Yeah it was. I miss you too. Hope we can see each other soon xx_

Putting her phone back back on her bedside table, Jemma pulls the covers a little closer and shuts her eyes, missing the warmth Yaz provides.

When the end of the week rolls around, Jemma hears the news she’s selfishly been hoping for all week. 

“I’m going to be away on work next week.” Omar says over breakfast.

“Oh?” Jemma tries to suppress the swell of excitement in her chest, “How long for?” 

“Ten days from Monday.”

“That’s longer than usual,”

“Well it's a lot of work.” he snaps, before shaking his head, “Sorry. It’s just _—_ frustrating, having to be away for that long.”

“I’ll be ok, on my own.” 

“I know you will. But it’s not just that. I’m just getting tired of having to go away all the time. I’ve been thinking actually, this past week _—_ about finding a new job.”

Unconsciously, Jemma’s heart plummets, mind instantly wandering to the ramifications of that possibly. She shifts in her seat. 

Omar notices her uncomfortable silence, “Do you not think it’s a good idea?”

“I don’t _—_ I don’t _not_ think it’s a good idea. It’s just something you’ve really got to be sure you want to do, you know?”

“Yeah, of course. It won’t be anytime soon, I don’t think. But, I just wanted to tell someone about what I’d been thinking.”

Jemma offers him a small smile, “Well, I’ll support whatever decision you make, O.” 

“Thanks, Jem.” he says as he stands. “Right, better go make sure I’ve got enough shirts to last me then, yeah?”

“Yeah.” 

* * *

Jemma almost feels bad for the speed she’s around Yaz’s after Omar leaves for his work trip. _Almost._

As soon as Yaz’s door shuts behind them their lips are crashing together, teeth clacking and hands everywhere, snaking under shirts and tugging at trouser fastenings. 

“I missed you so much.” Jemma mumbles against Yaz’s lips as she pushes her up against the wall by the stairs, hands bunching in the fabric of her top, quickly tugging it over her head. 

“God, I missed you too.” Yaz parrots, running her hands up Jemma’s sides underneath her top. “Upstairs, now.”

Falling into bed together, clothes long gone on the journey, it isn’t long before Jemma finds herself hot and sweaty and panting underneath Yaz as the other woman pushes the black silicone strapped to her hips inside her. Resting on her forearms and pumping her hips as her mouth trails searing kisses along Jemma’s clavicle, Yaz hoists one leg higher to rest on her hip when she curls her hand under the crook of Jemma’s knee, holding her in place while she fucks her into the mattress. 

Hands clawing at Yaz’s back where she holds her close, moaning breathily into her ear, Jemma is mere seconds from toppling over the edge when there’s a knock at the door. Both women tense up, before another knock has Yaz pulling out as she groans with frustration and Jemma whines in desperation. Discarding the toy and throwing on a t-shirt and a pair of leggings, Yaz heads downstairs to answer the door, checking through the peephole to find… Karen. Of course it was. Pressing her forehead to the cool wood of the door and willing Allah to give her strength, Yaz turns the lock and paints a false smile on her lips. 

“Karen? Hi!”

“Hello, Yasmin.”

“What can I do for you?” she pants, still slightly out of breath.

Yaz doesn’t fail to notice how Karen not-so-subtley attempts to peer over her shoulder and into her home, “Oh, right! Well I was just wondering if I could borrow some _—_ sugar. I’m baking and it turns out I didn’t pick any up on the shop.”

It’s such a bare faced lie Yaz has to stop herself from scoffing, “Sugar?” 

“Mhmm.”

“Right, ok. How much do you need?” 

“Two hundred and fifty grams.” 

Yaz nods as politely as she can muster, “Ok. Wait here and I’ll go sort some for you.” 

“Or I could just come in and wait?”

Yaz can feel the cool breeze hitting her bare arms as brown leaves whip through the wind behind Karen. Realistically, a good neighbor would let her in. It’s cold outside and it won’t be for long. But the woman Yaz is currently having an affair with is upstairs. Probably still very naked. Karen is also a renowned snoop, and Yaz wouldn’t put it past her to go mooching around her house and find said naked woman in her bed.

She’s just about to say no when _—_

“Oh come on, Yaz, let her in it’s freezing out there!” Jemma calls from behind her, dressed in a pair of workout leggings and a light jumper, both of them Yaz’s, both them looking _very_ good on her. 

“Jemma? I didn’t realise you were here.” Another lie, Yaz deduces. Karen has far too many tells and Yaz has interviewed enough people in her line of work to decipher them.

Let’s get you that sugar then, yeah?” Yaz says, flipping the conversation back to its original intent and guiding them all to the kitchen where she pulls a bag of sugar from the cupboard above the kettle and a set of weighing scales from the one next to it. 

“So,” Karen starts, “What have you two been up to then? You’re both looking a bit hot and bothered?” 

Before Yaz can come up with an excuse, Jemma beats her to the punch, “We were working out.” 

“Working out? But you came from upstairs didn’t you?”

“Yaz has got a little gym at home,” Jemma shrugs nonchalantly, “Police officer, remember?” Jemma nods toward Yaz, who is filling a small container with the now weighed out sugar. 

“Ah, yes. Of course.” 

Karen’s face pulls taut and Jemma is sure she’s thinking of the letter that Yaz pushed back through her door a while ago.

“Here you go.” Yaz chimes, shoving the container at Karen who takes it abruptly. “I’ll have the container back when you’re done with it though, and a slice of whatever you’re making _—_ as payment.” Yaz winks, and it takes all of Jemma’s effort not to laugh.

“Erm _—_ yes. Of course. No problem. Thank you.” 

“I’ll see you out then.” Yaz gestures to the door, slumping against it with a breezy laugh when she’s forced Karen through. 

“ _Urgh.”_ Yaz groans and Jemma laughs with her while she rolls her eyes.

“That woman.”

“Don’t. She literally hates me so much.” 

There’s brief but comfortable silence when their laughs subside. “Do you think she’s suspicious?” Yaz asks in a way that shows she already knows the answer.

“Definitely.” 

“She’s not baking anything.”

“Well she might be now you’ve said she owes you a piece.” 

“She bloody better and all.” Yaz steps forward and takes one of Jemma’s hands in her own, “Now, can we get back to our ‘workout’ in my home gym?”

“Oi! It was a great excuse. You actually _do_ have a home gym.” 

“I know, I know. Well done you.” Yaz chirps as she drags Jemma back up the stairs, stopping outside the gym door. “Sure you don’t want to have an actual workout?”

“Don’t you dare.” Jemma warns, tugging them back toward the bedroom.

* * *

It’s three days later and eight o’clock at night when Jemma’s phone buzzing interrupts her _The Great British Bake Off_ rewatch. Looking at the caller ID, she sees it’s Yaz and smiles warmly. 

“Hiya.”

_“Jemma?”_ Yaz replies instantly, panic lacing her tone. It puts Jemma on edge. 

“Yaz? You ok?”

She hears the other woman mumble a curse under her breath before she speaks again, _“You need to come ‘round. Now, if you can. But um — come around the back so no one sees you.”_

“Why? What’s wrong?” Jemma questions, fear clutching at her heart and stealing her breath as she rises from the sofa, blanket pooling at her feet.

_“Just, come over? Please? I’ll explain everything.”_

Darting out the back after ending the call, Jemma carefully makes her way into Yaz’s back garden, rapping a few gentle taps against the glass of french doors. A few moments later, the curtain is drawn back and Yaz flings open the door, pulling Jemma inside and straight into a hug.

“Hey,” Jemma muffles into her neck, holding her tightly around the waist before pulling away and dipping her head to meet Yaz’s panicked gaze. Hands sliding up Yaz’s sides to cup her face in her hands, Jemma runs a comforting thumb over Yaz’s cheekbone, “Hey, hey, Yaz? Yaz what’s wrong?”

Yaz’s hands clasp around Jemma’s wrists as she leans into the touch, eyes fluttering shut for a moment. Jemma uses the opportunity to press a gentle kiss to Yaz’s lips. “Yaz?”

When her eyes open again, all she sees is worry.

“Karen knows. Like _—_ fully, properly, knows.”

“What?”

“Come with me.” Taking Jemma’s hand, Yaz guides them to the sofa where they both perch uneasily on the edge, knees touch as they face each other, hands still interlinked. 

Yaz lets out a sigh before continuing. “She knows and she’s got a picture to prove it.” 

Jemma feels her heart drop into her stomach like lead, “What?”

“Look,” Yaz pulls her phone out of her pocket and brings up a text conversation with Karen;

_Karen [19:50]: I know what you and Jemma have been up to._

_Yaz [19:50]: What are you on about?_

_Karen [19:51]: This._

And there was the picture. Yaz and Jemma at Jemma’s house two evenings ago in the kitchen. Clearly they’d gotten sloppy with how careful they were being. Because in the picture, right in the window, for anyone to see, were Jemma and Yaz sharing a kiss, a steaming cup of coffee in the brunette’s hands. 

Jemma felt sick, the nausea only increasing when she continued to read the thread. 

_Karen [19:52]: If you two don’t tell Omar when he gets back then I will. Along with the rest of the street. And all your friends on Facebook. I’ll give you 2 days from when he gets back._

Jemma feels like crying. How can they have been so careless? The only saving grace is that Karen hadn’t captured a photo of what happened after that kiss. Though who knows what else she saw.

“Fuck,” the word slips past her lips without her knowing until Yaz agrees.

“Yeah. That feels like an understatement.”

“Well, what do we do?”

“We have to tell him. Don’t we?” Yaz says remorsefully.

“God, Yaz. This is such a mess. I should’ve told him straight away. I can’t believe we let this go on for so long. We got too comfortable. I _—_ ”

“I know, I know.” Yaz says, squeezing Jemma’s hand a little tighter. 

“She can’t tell him, Yaz. She can’t,” she rambles in a panic, mind going off on tangents of all the different scenarios that could happen until Yaz’s voice grounds her. 

“And she _won’t._ ”

“The day he gets back, I’ll tell him everything.” Jemma nods, voice trembling and lower lip wobbling.

“Do you want me there? When you do?” Yaz offers gently.

Jemma shakes her head, blonde locks swishing, around her chin, “No _—_ no I’ll tell him on my own. He’ll probably just get more angry if you’re there.” 

“That isn’t very reassuring.” 

“I’ll be fine, I promise. I know how to talk O down when he gets mad.” Jemma sighs, wiping at watery eyes, “He probably won’t be surprised, we haven’t had sex in months. I’ve barely even kissed on the lips since we started this.” 

“Hey,” Yaz shifts closer, curling an arm around Jemma’s waist, “It’ll be ok. We’ll be ok.” she affirms, planting a gentle kiss to Jemma’s hairline. 

“I know, it’s just _—_ what am I gonna do? After I tell him? I can’t stay there, can I?”

“Well that’s easy,” Yaz shrugs lightly, “Just move in here.” 

“What?” Jemma smiles sadly, “You mean, next door to the man I’ve been cheating on for the past few months. With you, the woman I’ve been cheating on him with.”

“Yeah. Though I admit it is a bit U-Haul.”

Jemma’s responding laugh is watery as she sniffs, leaning her temple against Yaz’s and playing with the dark fingers linked hers. “You don’t mind?” she asks with a frown, and Yaz’s lips ghost over her cheek.

“Course I don’t mind. Don’t be so daft.” Yaz chides playfully, “I mean _—_ yeah Omar probably isn’t gonna be too happy about and neither is Karen but honestly? Fuck Karen. Besides, where else does he expect you to go?”

Jemma’s lips form a small pout as she nods against Yaz’s head, “Yeah, ‘spose you’re right.”

There’s a comfortable quiet hanging between them when Jemma speaks again, “I mean this is probably the right time for this to all happen.”

Yaz lifts her head to take in Jemma’s profile with a frown, “Why?”

“O’s thinking of looking for another job, where he doesn’t have to travel so much. I think he’s just tired of going away all time. We barely see each other when his work is busy. Guess we won’t be seeing each other at all after this.” Jemma says, voice full of misery.

“I’m sorry, Jem.” 

“It’s ok. I do love him. Just not the way I ever thought and not the way he loves me. I don’t want to hurt him _—_ even though it’s too late for that. I think that’s why I’ve not wanted to tell him. So I could just live in this blissful ignorance that everything is fine.” Jemma laments, running a hand down her face. 

“You can stay here tonight, if you want,” a smirk curls Yaz’s lip, “Might have to sneak back ‘round in the morning though. God forbid Karen sees you.”

“Urgh,” Jemma groans, “Don’t. But yes please. I need you to spoon me.” 

“Like always then, babe?” Yaz quips with a cheeky grin and Jemma nudges her arm with a pout. 

“No, not always! Cheeky git. Maybe I’ll spoon you tonight.” 

Yaz stands and Jemma takes her offered hand, following Yaz toward the stairs, “No you won’t.”

“No, I won’t.”

* * *

The front shuts and Jemma jumps in her seat. When Omar walks into the living room, he pauses in the doorway, coat halfway off his shoulders. “Jemma? You alright?”

“Yeah, just, um _—_ could you come sit with me?”

Chucking his coat on the seat next to the sofa, he sits down on the cushion next to Jemma, his brow creasing in worry. “Is something wrong?”

Jemma glances down at her hands, they sit in her lap as she wrings them nervously, “Yeah. Yeah there is.”

“Jemma _—_ ”

“I’ve been having an affair.” she blurts out before she loses her courage.

She doesn’t look up, feeling too scared and ashamed to do so, instead wallowing in the silence that engulfs the room. The only thing she can hear is her heart pounding erratically in her chest. 

The silence stretches, and stretches and stretches, until Jemma can’t take it anymore and forces herself to look up into dark brown eyes. Omar’s gaze is on her, but she’s not sure if he’s really there. “O, please say something.” 

His eyes flutter shut briefly as he takes a deep breath in, “How long?”

“Since the Halloween party.” 

“Si _—_ Since Halloween?! Jemma I was _there.”_

“I know _._ I kissed her in the bathroom and then the next week when you were away we _—_ " Jemma trails off, the insinuation there for Omar to regretfully catch.

“So that’s when it’s been happening? While I’ve been–” he pauses, realisation glossing over his eyes and Jemma swallows hard. “ _Her?”_

Jemma nods.

“Who?”

O, I _—_ ” 

“WHO?!” O shouts, rising from his seat as his patience wears thin.

“Yaz,” Jemma mutters quietly.

“Sorry?”

“It’s Yaz!” she says more clearly, glassy eyes locking with his.

“From next door?”

“Yes.” she says weakly.

“God, Jemma,” he runs a hand down his face, rubbing his beard as he begins to pace back and forth, “You’re fucking our _neighbour_? I don’t believe this. What? Am I not good enough for you anymore? Decided to switch sides because you’ve gone off dick? Is that it?” he scoffs cruelly, “You know what it makes sense as to why we haven’t had sex in months now.” he barks, features contorting in spiteful anger. 

“It’s not that all, O! I _—"_ Jemma clamps her mouth shut, the words she wants to say ones she hasn’t even spoken to the respective other yet. 

Omar just huffs, knowing where the end of her sentence was going. He slumps into the other chair, his coat falling off the back and hitting the floor with a quiet _thud_ , “You love her. That’s what you were gonna say. Wasn’t it?” 

Ducking her head, Jemma can barely look him in the eyes when she slowly nods with a quiet, “Yes.”

Sighing loudly, Omar seems to sink further into the chair as a hand rubs at the back of his neck. “We’ve been together since the start of uni,”

“I know,” 

“We got married.”

“I know,” 

“Did you even love me?” 

“Of course I did! I _—_ I thought I did. Everyone else was getting married and it just seemed right and we’d been together for so long it just made sense. I never got chance to realise who I am. Who I like and love and it’s not just you it’s _any_ man.” Jemma sucks in a breath, preparing to speak words she had been yet to utter out loud. “I’m gay, Omar. And I’m sorry you’re affected by this too, but that’s just who I am. I can’t stop it and neither can you or this marriage. I love you, I do, but I was never _in_ love with you. I’m _in_ love with Yaz.” she says with a new strength to her tone.

“How could you do this to us?” he spat.

“Omar I _—_ ”

“You fucking bitch.”

“O! You–”

“Get out.” 

“What–”

“Get. Out. Go to your girlfriend’s for a shag or something, I don’t care. I just don’t want to see your face right now.”

Nodding hastily, Jemma stands on shaky legs, wiping her clammy palms on her jeans, “Ok,” she utters as she makes her way to the door, grabbing a coat from the cupboard. She turns as her hand unlocks the door, only to find Omar watching her leave. “I’m sorry,” she whispers as a tear spills down her cheek. He looks on with disgust as she goes, and then she’s walking so fast she may as well have run to Yaz’s.

Her knuckles rap against the door in quick succession and Yaz answers in no time, Jemma instantly enveloping her in a tight hug, her sobs falling hot and wet against Yaz’s neck. Using her foot to shut the door, Yaz whispers quiet comforts as they hold each other in the middle of her hallway. 

Yaz runs her fingers through blonde locks as Jemma starts to calm, nuzzling her head closer to Jemma’s own, “I’m proud of you, Jem. So proud of you. You’re so brave.” she reassures, and it makes Jemma cling tighter as her sniffles subside. 

“Yaz?” she asks, her voice muffled into the dark tresses hanging loose around Yaz’s neck.

“Yeah?” 

Taking a breath with a final sniff, Jemma pulls back to meet Yaz’s gaze with a watery smile, and the brunette’s hands hold her face as her thumbs wipes away the remnants of her tears. 

“I told O something tonight, and I wanted to tell you first but I didn’t really get a choice.”

Her smile quickly growing with suspicion of what it might be, Yaz’s eyes gleam with encouragement as she waits for Jemma to continue. 

“I love you, Yaz.” she admits, fingertips brushing the side of Yaz’s neck, “I’m _in_ love with you.” 

Yaz smiles with her whole face at the admission, eyes turning glassy as she brings Jemma’s forehead to rest against her own, “I’m in love with you, too.” 

The kiss that follows is warm and it’s like coming home, the emotions that were running high now running between them as Jemma’s heart flutters against her ribs. Their lips move slowly against each other, the pressure increasing as they pull each other close, only separating when their lungs scream for air. 

“Come on,” Yaz says, reluctantly pulling herself away from Jemma, “Let’s get you a cuppa.”

“Bugger that, I need a glass of wine.” Jemma exclaims as Yaz tugs her lightly toward the kitchen. 

* * *

It takes Jemma less than a week to move into Yaz’s, both women moving back and forth between houses to fetch her stuff while Omar works. They catch the occasional glimpse of Karen, her smug grin making Yaz’s blood boil to the point where Jemma has to calm her down. 

After making the final trip, they flop down on their newly made bed, the star dusted sheets one of Jemma’s recent impulse buys. 

Letting out a content sigh, Jemma rolls her head to the side and catches Yaz’s gaze already on her. 

It’s Yaz who speaks first, “Happy official move in day.”

“Happy official move in day.” Jemma grins back, though something in her eyes darken. “Wanna christen the sheets?”

Yaz laughs warmly at the question, her smile lifting at the glint in Jemma’s eyes, “You’re terrible.”

“Is that a yes?” Jemma asks lifting herself up to straddle Yaz’s hips.

“You know it is.”

She hums as she dips down to capture Yaz’s lips, “Good.” 

Yaz’s tongue slips past Jemma’s lips with ease, tasting overly sweet tea as her hands bunch in the hem of Jemma’s shirt, breaking the kiss to tug it over her head. Though before Jemma can lean back in for more, the light press of Yaz’s fingers against her lips stops her.

“Lay on your back for me, babe.” Doing as she’s told, Jemma slips her thighs from around Yaz’s hips and falls into the sheets. “Take off your clothes.” Mouth going dry and heat between her legs increasing, Jemma strips as Yaz rummages in her bedside drawer. 

Jemma shifts impatiently on the sheets, thighs pressing together in anticipation as she waits for Yaz to turn around. When she does, it’s with a small bullet to hand. “Jemma?”

“Hm?”

“I want you to use this on yourself.”

Jemma almost chokes on air at the request, her core burning hot at the thought, Yaz’s gaze dark and heavy lidded as she eagerly nods her head.

“Good girl.” 

The praise makes Jemma shiver as she takes the small vibrator, cheeks flushing as she flicks it onto the first setting and spreads her legs, dipping it between her thighs to press against her sensitive bud. 

Her stomach muscles jump and her hips buck when the vibrations pulse through her, a moan instantly leaving her lips as her head falls back against the pillow. Kneeling between Jemma’s legs, Yaz spreads them wider as her eyes rake of her naked form, though Jemma can barely bring herself to notice, all her senses far too focused on the sensations between her legs. 

“Does that feel good, baby?” Yaz asks, and Jemma can practically hear the smirk on her lips though her voice is leavy with lust.

“So good,” she keens, goosebumps peppering over her skin when Yaz runs her hands over supple thighs with a pleased hum.

Yaz leans over Jemma to press a languid kiss to her lips, hand ghosting over the twitching muscles of her stomach and up to the swells of her chest, pinching an already stiff nipple between her fingers, “You look so good doing that for me. Can you move up to the next setting, babe?” 

“Mhmm,” Jemma nods, finding the switch and flicking it up one, a high pitched gasp escaping her lungs and hips kicking at the intensity of the buzzing toy against her clit. “That feel good?”

“Yeah,” Jemma moans, eyes fluttering open to find Yaz’s. 

“Do you wish I was touching you?”

“Yes, _please,_ Yaz.” she pants, her free hand wrapping around Yaz’s wrist in an attempt to guide her lower. 

“Ah, ah,” Yaz pulls her hand free, “Only when I want to.”

“Yaz,” Jemma whines, hips starting to grind against the toy in search of more friction, thighs shaking when the toy hits a certain spot with her movements. 

Yaz sits back on her haunches, hands resting on Jemma’s knees when she glances down to take in her glistening heat, tongue darting out hungrily. “Jemma you’re soaked. Is that all for me?”

“Uh huh.” Jemma moans, gaze seeking Yaz’s, “It’s all for you, Yaz. Please, I need you to touch me.” 

“How much?” Yaz provokes, finger dipping down to swipe up a drip of Jemma’s arousal from where it rolls down her thigh, bringing it to her lips to suck it away. Jemma watches every movement, the action setting her core alight with a desperate need for Yaz’s touch. 

“So much, Yaz. Please, _please_ touch me. I need you,” she begs, “I need you so bad please, I love you I _—_ _Ah!”_

Yaz’s fingers circle her entrance, gathering her wetness before Jemma begs one more time, and Yaz pushes inside.

Back arching and free hand reaching out for something to hold, Jemma’s fingers make contact with Yaz’s on the sheets and interlock as she grips tight. Her moan is low and raspy when Yaz pushes in deep, crooking her fingers up toward her clit at an angle that has Jemma crying out for more. 

Her fingers pump slowly, dragging teasingly across her walls as a light sheen of sweat coats Jemma’s body, tension in her gut tightening rapidly as she moves the vibrator in slow circles over her clit, matching the roll of her hips and the pace of Yaz’s fingers. 

As the pressure builds and builds, Jemma squirms more and more in the sheets, Yaz holding her legs apart and stopping her from pressing her thighs together, instead, asking Jemma for more.

“Wanna up the setting for me, baby?”

“Yaz, I’m close, I’ll _—_ "

“Be a good girl for me, Jem.” 

Yaz’s raspy words make Jemma’s breath hitch as her thumb flicks the vibrator its final setting. Every nerve ending feels like it’s set alight at the rush of pleasure that jolts through her at the intensity, her mouth falling open as she moans loudly into the room, her hips faltering in their rhythm as her walls flutter around Yaz’s fingers and her grips tightens in her hand. 

“You’re so close, aren’t you, babe?” she hears over the blood pumping through her ears.

“So close, _Yaz,_ I’m _—_ ”

“That’s it Jem, I want you to come.”

Jemma feels herself clench around Yaz’s fingers as the tension coiled in her gut bursts, searing heat swooping through her body as her thigh muscles quiver and she moans deeply through her orgasm, coming hard against Yaz’s hand and the toy, holding it in place for a long as she can. When she can’t take anymore, she switches the vibrator off, hand falling to her side and the toy rolling on the sheets as she breathes heavily, Yaz still kneeling over the top of her. 

“You were so good for me, Jem. You ok?”

“So much more than ok.” Jemma sighs.

“Come take a shower with me?” 

“But what about you?” 

“You can make it up to me in there.”

“Oh,”

The water is hot and the room is steamy by the time they step in together, wet hair falling around their faces as Jemma pushes Yaz’s back up against the cool tiles, her breath catching at the temperature. 

She kisses Yaz slowly, pulling a full bottom lip between her teeth before travelling down the slope of her neck to her collarbones. As she makes her journey south, Jemma kisses every inch of skin available to her until she’s on her knees and nudging Yaz’s thighs apart. Fingers curl tightly into her hair when she claims her first taste. She runs the tip of her tongue through silken folds, teasing slightly before switching to broader strokes.

Yaz’s grip tightens when she sucks on her clit, Jemma’s hands rounding her hips to grab her backside and pull her closer. 

By the time Yaz is close, Jemma’s knees ache, but she doesn’t care, her body burning from the hot water on her back and the sounds falling from Yaz’s lips as she glides her tongue through molten heat. 

“Inside, Jem” Yaz moans, and Jemma slips two fingers inside her and pumps them fast, Yaz’s thighs quivering and her head hitting the tiles as she groans. Jemma’s fingers help bring her to the edge, letting her topple over when she thrusts deep and crooks her fingers to hit just the right spot as her tongue laps at her clit and Yaz cries out. She grinds her hips against Jemma’s mouth as she comes, panting heavily into the mist of the room.

When she relaxes, she helps Jemma stand, dragging her into a lazy kiss, arms slinking around slim hips and running her fingertips down her back. “I love you.” Yaz murmurs against Jemma’s lips. 

“I love you too.” she kisses back.

* * *

They’re sat at their kitchen table, the papers spread out in front of them as Jemma anxiously plays with the pen in her hand. 

“Ok?” Yaz asks gently, placing a comforting hand on her knee and giving it a light squeeze.

“Yeah _—_ yeah,” Jemma sighs, “Just, never thought I’d be signing divorce papers for my husband while sat next to my girlfriend.” Taking in a deep breath through her nose and sitting up straight, Jemma puts the tip of pen to paper, “Right,” she nods and signs the first line of many. 

Once signed and sealed, the two women head out, their journey to the nearest post box taking them past Jemma’s old home, a for sale sign wedged in the ground out front and the house eerily empty. 

By the time they get back, having extended the trip into a long afternoon walk, their hands hang loosely together between them as they chat idly. On the other side of the road, sitting in the warm afternoon sun, they glimpse a sight of Karen, unfortunately eyeing them across the street with a bowl of salad perched in her lap as she munches away on a piece of tomato. She practically chokes on her lunch when, at the front door, Yaz pulls Jemma into a searing kiss, tongue forcing itself past her lips and kissing her so completely her legs nearly give out. 

When the door shuts behind them, Jemma is still in a daze.

“That’ll show her to be such a nosy cow.” Yaz quips, the insult bringing Jemma back to the room with a chuckle.

* * *

Moonlight peaks through the blinds when a month later, Jemma finds Yaz lay on top of their bedsheets in her sweats, headphones in and eyes shut. She looks peaceful, and the sight of her so content makes Jemma’s chest burst with a loving warmth. Yaz must sense she’s being watched when she peeps one eye open before reaching for her phone and pressing pause.

“What you listening to?” Jemma asks as she clambours onto the bed and bends down to leave a quick peck on Yaz’s lips. 

“Oh, it’s this new podcast I’ve found. It’s called ‘Give us your worst.’ Can be proper funny.”

Intrigued, Jemma rests against the cushy headboard and cards her fingers through dark curls, “So what do they talk about?”

“Basically, they get people to submit the worst thing they’ve done, and then they talk about it. Some of them are hilarious, but some of them are well juicy. Wanna listen with me?” she offers an earbud, instead frowning when Jemma’s hand pauses in her hair and she catches a spark of something in her eyes. 

“What?”

“Yaz?”

“Yeah?”

“How do you submit a story?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you all so much for reading and i hope you've enjoyed this crack LMAO


	3. Part 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bet you weren't expecting a third part to this eh??!! there are certain people to blame here though really they're to thank because again this was a lot of fun to write as proven by the fact this chapter is 11k wtf
> 
> so enjoy this final wild ride of clownery, hilarity, karen's, emotions and utter filth (bc what else would you expect from these two)
> 
> i'll see y'all in the sin bin x

When she hears the front door fall shut, Jemma clambours down the stairs to meet her girlfriend, wide-eyed and excited. 

“Hey!” she says, tumbling into Yaz arms and melting against her warmth as the other woman wraps her arms loosely around her form.

“Hey babe,” Yaz mumbles into her neck, leaning back after a moment to capture her lips in a welcoming kiss. 

“Did you get the costumes?” Jemma asks, practically bouncing on the spot in excitement. 

“I did.” Yaz smirks, pulling them both out of the bag in a dramatic reveal, Jemma’s face lighting up instantly. 

“You got them!”

“I did! Were proper lucky though, they were the last ones the shop had. That’s what we get for leaving it til the day before Halloween to get costumes.” 

“And they’re not–”

“They’re _not_ the sexy versions. I checked. Twice.”

Jemma takes them in her hands, gaze flicking between them and then up to Yaz.

“Mario and Luigi. We’re gonna look brilliant.”

Setting the costumes aside, both women head into the kitchen, Jemma automatically gravitating to the kettle as she flicks it on. “Has everyone RSVP’d?” she asks, pulling mugs from the cupboard and popping two teabags in the teapot. 

“Yeah. Pretty much everyone can make it. Apart from Aaron and Julia. It’s his mum’s birthday so…” Yaz trails off, figuring it pretty self explanatory.

“Ah, that’s fair enough.”

Yaz sits down at the table, eyeing Jemma where she leans against the counter. A mischievous grin pulls at her lips, “I can’t wait to see her face, Jem.”

Jemma laughs, face scrunching up with the action as she moves to pour the boiling water into the pot to let their tea stew, “Me neither. She’s gonna be fuming, Yaz.” 

“I know. It’s gonna be so good. I just dare her to try do something.”

“You’re terrible!” 

Yaz simply winks in response, “I know. Plus with Grace coming too? Just imagine,”

“Dream team you two are.”

“Yasmin Khan and Grace O’Brien vs Karen Martin. She doesn’t stand a chance, babe.”

Setting the mugs and a biscuit tin on the table, Jemma sits down as the two women breeze through idle conversation until a sudden realisation pushes to the forefront of Jemma’s mind. “Yaz?”

“Hm?”

“Tomorrow it’ll be one year since we first kissed.”

Yaz’s eyebrows raise where she smiles over the rim of her mug, “It will,” she says, setting it down on the table. “Whose fault is that?”

“Fault?!” Jemma pouts and Yaz just laughs, the glint in her eye proving one thing to Jemma, “You’re such a wind up merchant.” 

“You love me for it.” 

Jemma softens leaning over the table in search of Yaz’s lips, “Yeah,” she gives her quick peck, “I do.”

Yaz hums pleasantly against Jemma’s lips as another thought springs to mind, “Yaz, if I hadn’t have kissed you first. Would you have ever kissed me?” 

Gaze dropping to her mug, Yaz taps the side of it as she frowns before glancing up to find Jemma with a small smile, “No. I don’t think I would’ve. I mean, I liked you, of course I did. But you were married. I couldn’t be sure if I was just seeing what I wanted to see. So you kissing me cemented that you liked me back.” Yaz stands after a quiet moment, picking up their empty mugs and rounding the table to plant another kiss on Jemma’s lips, “But I tell you what, babe? I’m _so_ so glad you kissed me.”

Jemma chuckles quietly, running a hand down Yaz’s arm as she passes her before making to stand herself. 

“Right! Wanna decorate?” she grins, eyeing the near exploding bag of decorations in the corner of the kitchen. 

“Erm _—_ of course,” Yaz beams back. “Shall I put on a Halloween playlist, get us in the mood?” 

“Yes!” Jemma practically bounces with excitement, grabbing the bag and heading straight for the lounge, “Not _This is Halloween_ though, that song is rubbish.” 

Yaz shakes her head, “You know it still to this day offends me that you hate _Nightmare Before Christmas._ ” 

“I’m telling you, Yaz, _massively_ overrated.”

* * *

It’s just gone half six in the evening when Jemma and Yaz are putting the finishing touches to their costumes. They stand facing each other in the bathroom as Jemma sticks a fake moustache to Yaz’s upper lip, her own peeling away slightly with the grin pulling at her cheeks. 

“Are you sure these are necessary, babe?” 

“Of course they are! We can’t be Mario and Luigi without moustaches.”

“These are gonna fall off after like, five minutes.”

Well, at least we can say we tried.” 

Yaz sighs, “Alright, I think you’ve pushed hard enough on my face now, Jem.” 

There’s a pause, then a laugh, “You look brilliant, babe.”

Jemma watches Yaz turn to look in the mirror, both their gazes flicking between each other until they can’t hold back and burst into laughter that bounces off the walls.

They’re cut off by the sound of a knock at the door, and they both head downstairs to greet their first guests. Hand resting lightly over the door handle, Yaz turns to Jemma with a smirk on her lips, “And so the Halloween party war begins.” 

Jemma is laughing when the door swings open to the faces of Graham and Grace O’Brien and a younger man she doesn’t recognise. “Hiya!” she calls over Yaz’s shoulder, who is already being embraced in a hug by Grace. 

“Alright, cockle?” Graham calls back to her, soon distracted by Yaz when Grace steps inside. 

“Hi, love,” she greets, “How’re you?” 

“Hiya, Grace.” Jemma muffles into a warm hug. When she pulls away, she takes in Graham and Grace’s attire and sucks in a gasp. “Oh my _God._ Are you two Morticia and Gomez Addams?!”

Grace looks back to Graham with a grin, “We certainly are.” he gloats, his penciled on moustaches curling upwards with his lip.

“Brilliant!”

“By the way ladies, this is my Grandson, Ryan.” Grace announces, ushering the young man who is dressed as Wolverine to her side as she glances between him and Yaz, “You two should know each other,” she quips, and she’s right when a spark of recognition glints in Ryan’s eyes.

“Yaz? Yasmin Khan?”

“Ryan? Wait _—_ – as in, Ryan Sinclair, Ryan from _—_ ”

“Redlands Primary!” he finishes for her, “Oh my days, Yaz! It’s been _years_.”

“It has! Wow! How’ve you been?”

Jemma hears Grace chortle softly next to her, “Come on, love. I’ve brought drinks, let’s go pour ourselves one while those two catch up, eh?” 

“Great plan, Grace.” 

Jemma pours herself and Grace a glass of white wine while Graham cracks open a can of beer and takes a hefty swig. 

“How you been anyway, Jem?” Graham asks from where he leans against the counter, “Ain’t seen you in a while.” 

Taking a small sip of her wine, Jemma nods lightly, “I’ve been great actually, thanks, Graham. I know it’s been a while but things got pretty erm _—_ hectic, for a bit.”

“I can imagine, love,” Grace continues, “How’s that all gone? Has the divorce settled smoothly?”

“Yeah, O’s been pretty eager to get it sorted as quickly as he can. I think he’s a bit embarrassed, to be honest, about the whole situation. What with me leaving him for another woman.” 

Grace hums in contemplation, “Well if I do say so myself, you seem miles happier now, regardless of how all this came about. I’ll be honest, I was never the biggest fan of Omar _—_ he always put me a bit on edge.” 

“I know what you mean,” Jemma agrees, thinking back to the day she told him.

“What you two have though,” Grace looks between Jemma and Yaz, “The way you are with each other, it’s something special.” 

“Yeah,” Jemma smiles gently over at Yaz who catches her gaze and winks back. It sends her smitten, even after all this time, “I love her so much, Grace.”

Grace chuckles, low and hearty with a warm smile, “I can see that, clear as day.”

Suddenly frowning a little at her drink, Jemma clears her throat before looking up, “Actually, I wanted to ask you if you could help me out with _—_ ”

“Yaz,” Grace interrupts, and Jemma’s gaze snaps to the very woman walking toward them, Ryan in tow. 

“Alright Grace,” she acknowledges, before turning to Jemma, “Babe did we put lemonade cans in the fridge?”

“Yeah,” Jemma breathes out, heart suddenly racing, “Below the spare beers.”

“Thanks,” Yaz smiles, pressing a kiss to the corner of her lips and gesturing for Ryan to follow her.

A hand on Jemma’s arm makes her jump. When she looks, it’s only Grace, “Later, love.” she smiles knowingly and Jemma smiles back.

“Anyway,” Grace huffs, casually changing the subject, and Jemma is thankful for it, “you heard anything from _her,_ yet?” she questions, nodding through the window to the house opposite. 

Jemma shakes her head, “Not yet, though I’m sure we will soon when more people start to arrive.” 

“Well you let me know if she comes over to cause trouble alright, love?” 

“Don’t worry, Grace. With both you and Yaz I think we’ll be fine.” 

Jemma’s prediction turns out to be correct when about an hour into the party, stick-on moustaches long gone, there’s a series of loud knocks at the front door. Through the open plan room, Jemma and Yaz drift from their respective conversations to lock eyes. Jemma tilts her head toward the door with a roll of her eyes and Yaz smirks back at her before finishing her conversation, making her way through the crowd of guests toward her girlfriend. When Yaz finds Jemma, so does Grace.

“I saw her walk across the road,” Jemma says as she looks out the kitchen window, “It’s definitely her.” 

“Is it bad that I was hoping she’d come over?” Yaz admits with a slightly guilty grimace in Jemma’s direction. 

“Kinda,” Jemma shrugs, “But I’d be lying if I wasn’t looking forward to seeing what she says,”

There’s another loud knock at the door that startles them all a little before the three women head toward it. 

It’s Yaz who opens the door, a false smile plastered on her face, “Oh, hi Karen! Can I help you at all?”

Karen just scoffs, arms folded, expression creased with anger, “Can I _—_ Can I _help_ you?! What do you two think you’re playing at?”

Yaz and Jemma look at each other with faux innocence, then both back to Karen, “What do you mean?” Jemma questions.

“You know _exactly_ what I mean you _—_ you _—_ ”

“What?” Yaz pushes, and Karen practically growls in response. 

“How _dare_ you have a Halloween party! The neighbourhood Halloween party is _my_ thing. You can’t just swan in here after a year and hold your own and take my guests.”

“Karen, I think you’ll find they can choose to go to whatever Halloween party they like.” Yaz states matter of factly.

“Do you not remember me explicitly stating to you last year, that the Halloween party is _my_ thing?”

“Karen,” Yaz sighs, “A Halloween party is a Halloween party, it isn’t _anyone's_ specific thing. Plus if we both sent out invites and everyone decided to come here instead of yours, then, well _—_ that’s just a bit awkward, isn’t it?” Yaz says with a grimace, and it takes everything in Jemma not to burst out laughing. 

She’s convinced Karen is about ready to start stamping her foot like a child having a hissy fit in a minute, if her shaking shoulders and reddening face are anything to go by. 

“You _—_ lesbians! You’re always the ones causing trouble.”

Yaz scoffs a laugh. She goes to reply but Grace beats her to it, “And what exactly do their sexualities have to do with anything, Karen? I’ve heard the story. It’s _you_ who likes to cause trouble.”

“I _—_ I _—_ _They_ were the ones having the affair!”

“And they’re still both much nicer people than you. Now I think you best go home, don’t you?” Grace’s voice is patronising, and it cranks Karen’s rage up to boiling. 

“I’m going to call the police on you. Get this party shut down.” 

Yaz just laughs, “Go on then. Might be nice to see whoever is on shift tonight. Do I have to remind you what my job is Karen? _Again._ ”

“Karen?” Jemma speaks up, and the other woman’s glare snaps toward her, “I think you best leave now _—_ before you embarrass yourself even more.”

Steam is practically blowing out of Karen’s ears as her fists clench at her side and she lets out a cry of anger before stomping down the driveway and across the road. 

The three women are in stitches before the door even closes. 

It’s later into the evening and the party is in full swing when Jemma pours her third glass of wine and grabs another can of lemonade from the fridge for Yaz. She’s starting to feel the buzz of the alcohol now, along with the heat of her costume and all the bodies filling her home. She thinks the alcohol is making her feel hotter than she is, and wishes she could at least peel the top half of her costume away to hang around her waist but all that lies underneath is her bra. She squeezes through the bustle of people, music thrumming in her ears until she finds Yaz chatting with Amy and Rory. 

“Hey, babe.” Yaz calls out softly when she spots Jemma, reaching out a hand to grab the can with a quiet thank you. 

“Jemma!” Amy cries, wobbling onto her feet to pull her into a tight hug, “I’ve barely seen you tonight, where’ve you been?”

“Oh, you know. Everywhere. Lots of people to talk to!”

When Jemma draws herself out of the woman’s arms, Amy eyes her with a playful glare as she sips at her Jack Daniels and coke while she sways on the spot. 

“Anyway, I was just hoping I could steal Yaz for a sec? I’ll come back in a minute I promise.”

“You better!” Amy responds as Jemma pulls Yaz away and toward the bathroom where luckily for the first time that night, there’s no queue.

Locking the door behind them, Jemma sets down her wine and lets out a breath. 

“You ok, Jem?” Yaz asks, resting a hand on her upper arm as she places her can next to her girlfriend’s drink.

“Yeah I’m fine. Just getting hot. Aren’t you?”

“Yeah, it’s way cooler in here, good shout.”

Jemma leans back against the sink, the ceramic cool in her clammy hands. However, her body does anything but cool down when the tugging apart of velcro fills the room and Yaz slips her arms free of her costume, letting it hang around her waist as she puffs out a breath. 

She’s clearly worked up a sweat in the costume, a thin sheen of it contouring her abs and glistening across her chest. When Jemma’s gaze makes it back up to Yaz’s face, there’s a smirk on her lips and her eyes are darker. “Like what you see, Jem?”

Jemma gulps, cheeks rosy, “Always. Sometimes I just forget how much you’ve been working out recently.” 

Stepping forward, Jemma runs the tips of her fingers over Yaz’s defined stomach, gaze dropping to follow the journey and appreciate the view as she leans into the hand that curls around her neck and pulls her in. 

The kiss is slow to start, languid and gentle, Yaz’s tongue licking lazily into her mouth. Jemma’s hands venture to rest on Yaz’s hips and tug her closer with a quiet groan from the other woman, her lips becoming hungrier as she presses Jemma back against the sink. 

Barely pulling away, breathing heavy, Yaz whispers, “Turn around.”

Jemma does as she asks, clutching the sink as she thinks about what exactly she’s doing. There’s a party outside, probably a queue for the bathroom now. But the music is loud, and it will muffle the sound, right? 

Though her thoughts soon drift from any concerns she has when Yaz kisses her neck as she undoes the velcro of her costume, slowly revealing her bare back. Her lips trail lower, pressing lightly against her spine until they meet the white fabric of Jemma’s sports bra and she stops. With all the velcro undone, Yaz’s hands slip past the costume, roaming against the slightly sweaty flesh of Jemma’s stomach, the cheap costumes far from breathable. Her fingers trail across Jemma’s jumping muscles with a teasing pressure, barely tickling the skin as they graze upwards toward her chest, pushing beneath tight elastic to pinch at already hardened nipples and tug them lightly. Jemma lets out a shaky breath at the feel of Yaz’s hands on her as hot kisses press between her shoulder blades, the tip of a tongue tracing up her spine to where her back meets her neck and another kiss is planted. 

“Yaz,” Jemma breathes quietly, her grip tightening on the basin. 

Yaz’s foot knocks Jemma’s legs open further as her one hand falls from Jemma’s chest to dip between her thighs and meet the damp material of her underwear. She feels Yaz’s smirk against her neck, “God, I’ve really worked you up, haven’t I?” 

Jemma whines, knuckles white around the sink as Yaz rubs her gently, “God,” her head drops at the same time she lets out a sharp breath, “You’re such a tease.”

A low chuckle vibrates against her skin and makes Jemma shiver in Yaz’s arms as the woman pressed against her continues to hold out on what Jemma is craving, “Yaz _—_ ” she warns slightly, “ _please_ _—_ people are gonna be wondering where we are.”

Yaz just hums, smirk still pulling at her lips, Jemma can feel it. “I ‘spose,” she agrees, fingers finally dipping past the material and into slippery heat. They run through silken folds as Jemma’s hips jolt, Yaz’s free hand wrapping around her middle to hold her in place. “Stay still for me, babe.”

Jemma can’t help but rock lightly against Yaz’s hand, the other woman allowing the slight movement despite her request. She pants heavily as Yaz’s fingers increase their pressure on her clit, rubbing tight circles around the sensitive bud while her other hand still grips at Jemma’s hip as it helps her to rock against her hand. 

Teasing lower, Yaz’s fingers slide through her soaked folds to slip past her entrance and start up an easy pace. Jemma has to bite her lip as she swallows a moan when Yaz continuously thrusts as deep as their position will allow, the tips of her fingers brushing against sensitive walls and sending waves of pleasure through her body. 

“You look so good for me like this, babe,” Yaz whispers in her ear, making Jemma shudder, “Look at yourself, Jem, look how good you look for me.”

Jemma falters for a second at Yaz’s request, cheeks pinkening as she looks up into the mirror where she watches Yaz fuck her slowly from behind. She feels slightly voyeuristic, watching herself get taken by her girlfriend in the bathroom in the middle of their own party, but with Yaz working her up so seamlessly to the edge, and being able to watch her do it, Jemma only feels herself get increasingly wetter.

She can hear the slick sounds of Yaz’s fingers pumping inside her, though after a minute or so, the sound stops and her fingers slide out, “Wha _—_ ” Jemma breathes in confusion, moulding like putty to Yaz’s touch when her girlfriend turns her around and slips her costume from her shoulders until it falls to her ankles. Yaz drops to her knees, and realisation kicks in as Jemma's grip on the sink increases, if possible. 

“You better hold on, babe.” Yaz grins, gaze wandering to where Jemma’s hands grip tight. 

Her ruined underwear is yanked down her supple thighs and as soon as Yaz’s velvet tongue laps up its first taste, Jemma thinks she might come right there and then. Her tongue swipes broadly between her legs, licking fervently at her burning core before turning her focus to Jemma’s clit and sucking hard. 

For a moment, Jemma’s knees give out and she barely catches a moan in her throat, one hand coming up to bite down on her knuckles as she rolls her hips desperately against Yaz’s mouth. The heat in Jemma’s gut is searing as it shoots through her form right to her fingertips and coils around the rapidly tightening spring in her gut until it’s seconds from snapping. 

Jemma’s eyes clamp shut as her thighs start to shake, Yaz’s tongue relentless in its ministrations against her clit, “Don’t stop,” she whispers into the air, “Don’t stop, don’t stop, please don’t stop, Yaz I’m close, I’m so _so_ close, please don’t _—_ ”

Jemma’s whole body tenses and Yaz doesn’t stop, jaw falling slack as she comes silently, until her muscles loosen and a moan rises in her throat that has her teeth clamping back around her knuckles. 

Even after she’s come the first time Yaz doesn’t slow down, tipping Jemma over into a second orgasm, her legs seconds away from giving out, though Yaz’s hands hold her up with their tight grip on her hips. Only when she finally slumps against the sink, racing heart finally slowing, does Yaz take her final lick from her entrance to her clit before standing, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

Jemma is a mess against the sink as Yaz helps her dress back into her soaked underwear and unforgiving costume before capturing her in a gentle kiss. She can taste herself on Yaz’s lips, the other woman smug when she pulls away. 

“You know, I brought you in here to cool down right? Not to get ten times hotter,” Jemma chides playfully as Yaz chuckles. 

“Sorry babe, can’t help that you make a _very_ sexy mario.”

Oh my god, get out.” Jemma laughs, pushing Yaz toward the door.

“You're not coming?”

“No, I’m actually gonna use the bathroom now for it’s real purpose. I’ll see you out there, ok?”

“Ok.” 

Yaz finds her lips one more time before leaving.

* * *

When Jemma leaves the bathroom, there is a considerable queue, and she apologises to everyone in line and hopes the blush on her cheeks isn’t too apparent. She hopes even more that it isn’t too obvious what just went on in there. 

Finding Yaz in the small crowd isn’t hard. She’s back chatting with Amy and Rory, and it’s obvious Amy has had more to drink in the time they’ve been gone. 

“Jemma, there you are! That was way more than a minute.” she slurs. 

“I know, sorry. But I’m back now.”

“You are! Oh also, have you tried any of the snacks in the kitchen? They’re _great_.” she grins, munching on a sausage roll, flakes of pastry catching on the corners of her mouth as Rory wipes them away. “You should have some!”

“I have already, yeah. The samosas are my favourite,” she grins, thinking back to the evening before when Najia brought around a massive box of the homemade goods. 

“What about you, Yaz?” Amy asks, pointing her half eaten sausage roll in Yaz’s direction. 

“Yeah, they are good. Though I have just eaten, to be fair.” 

Jemma chokes on air, clocking Yaz’s smug grin directed her way, and wishes she hadn’t left her drink in the bathroom. 

* * *

It’s well past midnight when the last person leaves, and the house is a mess of disposable plates, empty bottles, empty cans and empty cups. Yaz and Jemma slump down on the sofa with a sigh, Jemma with a small glass of wine and Yaz with half a can of lemonade. 

“Well I’d say that was a success, wouldn’t you?” Jemma proposes, lifting her head from where it rests on Yaz’s shoulder to gauge her answer.

“I would!”

There’s a brief lull before Jemma turns to face Yaz again, “Hey, Yaz?”

“Yeah?”

“Happy kissaversary.”

Yaz laughs, head falling back against the cushions, eyes bright and warm, “Happy kissaversary, Jem.” 

They clink their can and glass together, both taking a sip before Jemma leans down to press a kiss to Yaz’s lips. “I love you,” she murmurs against them. 

“I love you, too.” 

“Now, come with me.” Jemma says as she stands and finishes her wine, placing the glass down on the coffee table.

She sticks her hand out for Yaz to take but all she gets is a whine in response, “But babe, I’m comfy here.” 

“Do you _not_ want me to make up for the shag in the bathroom room earlier?” she asks with a grin, revelling in how Yaz’s eyes light up and her eyebrows lift.

“Well, I can’t possibly refuse that.” 

“No, you can’t, now come on.” 

Taking her hand, Yaz pulls herself up and follows Jemma toward the stairs. “Wait, what about this mess?”

Jemma looks at her pointedly, “It can wait til tomorrow.”

Yaz smirks back at her, “Yes it can.” 

Closing the bedroom door behind them, Jemma pushes Yaz down onto bed where she sinks into the plush sheets. Climbing on top of her, Jemma ducks down into a kiss as she pulls at Yaz’s costume, the weak velcro holding it together at the back pulling apart as she slips it off her shoulders. Jemma pulls back to tug her own costume off entirely and Yaz kicks hers off underneath her until all that remains is their underwear. Her hands come up to run over Jemma’s sides, slinking around her back and pulling her down into a searing kiss, her tongue pushing past kiss swollen lips. Yaz tastes sweet like the lemonde she’d been drinking all evening and she moans into Jemma’s mouth when her hands roam over the defined muscles of her stomach before skimming up towards her bra. 

Hooking her fingers under the tight elastic, Jemma breaks away from Yaz’s lips to pull the bra over her head and throw it across the room. Her hands fall straight to Yaz’s chest, her thumbs running over dusky nipples as her lips press lightly to the valley between her breasts. One of Yaz’s hands moves to grip lightly in Jemma’s hair while the other rests on her hip to keep her stable and hold her close.

Jemma’s mouth moves to run a tongue over Yaz’s pebbled nipple, the woman beneath her arching into it when she takes the bud between her teeth and tugs lightly. Yaz sighs into the sensation, her hips starting to move in search of friction that Jemma provides when she moves to slip Yaz’s underwear down her legs and leave her bare to the room. Straddling Yaz’s thigh, Jemma presses her own up into Yaz’s molten heat where she’s slick and hot against the skin of her thigh as she cries out while rocking into the pressure. 

“Inside,” Yaz moans as she rolls her hips desperately, grabbing Jemma’s hand and guiding it between her legs. 

Obliging happily, Jemma pulls her thigh away to replace it with her hand, running her fingers through Yaz’s silken folds and over her clit, covering her fingers with Yaz’s arousal before pressing two fingers inside with no resistance. Yaz hums into the pressure, hips rolling as her head falls back into the pillows.

“God, yes,” she moans when Jemma starts to move, starting with a slow, teasing pace that hits as deep as she can go with each thrust. 

When Yaz opens her eyes, her pupils are blown and swirling with unbridled desire as she pulls Jemma down into a heated kiss that almost takes her breath away. She can feel her own arousal pool in her already ruined underwear, a heat coiling hot and raw in her gut at the sounds Yaz is making and the feel of her mouth against her own along with her fingers pressing inside her hot and wet. 

Yaz pulls away when Jemma’s fingers brush over a certain spot inside her that has her moaning deeply, chest heaving with pleasure as a light sheen of sweat coats her skin. Locking eyes with Jemma, Yaz finds her hips again, moving them down against her thigh and Jemma sighs at the relief as Yaz rocks her slowly against her, her clit bumping against the tense muscle at the right angle to send a shudder up her spine.

“Jem, God, you look so good doing that,”

Jemma breathes a heady laugh against her, “Says you,” 

Starting to pump her fingers faster, Jemma grinds harder against Yaz’s thigh when she feels her girlfriend’s walls flutter around her. Yaz’s breathing picks up, eyes fluttering shut as her guiding hands on Jemma’s hips dig in tighter, leaving crescent moons in their wake. “Close,” she moans, “So close, Jem _—_ _ah!”_

To help bring her to the edge quickly, Jemma’s thumb finds Yaz’s clit and rubs tight circles around the throbbing bud. Yaz’s hips falter where they roll against her hand and Jemma feels her clench around her fingers as her back arches and she moans loudly, breathing heavily as her climax subsides and she relaxes a little. 

Her focus turns to Jemma then as she composes herself and sits up, one hand still rocking Jemma against her while the other pushes under her bra and grabs her breast, a thumb brushing over her pebbled nipple.

“God, Yaz,”

“Keep going baby, you look so good for me,”

Jemma whines as her chest arches into Yaz’s hand, desperately seeking more as she creeps toward the precipice, though frustratingly, she’s not getting there fast enough. 

“More, Yaz, I need more,” she breathes, clammy forehead falling against Yaz’s own.

“Where?”

“Here,” she murmurs, moving Yaz’s hand from her chest and into her underwear to run over her clit and add a more direct pressure.

Yaz wastes no time in moving her fingers quickly and efficiently over Jemma’s swollen bud, fingers already slick with Jemma’s arousal as she clumsily rolls her hips while she rushes closer and closer to her orgasm.

“Just like that, Yaz, please, I’m close,”

“Come on baby, come for me,” 

Yaz’s words breathing against the shell of her ear is what tips Jemma over the edge. Crashing her lips against Yaz’s in a messy kiss, she moans into her mouth as her hips jerk against her thigh and Yaz’s fingers rub slick and fast against her clit as her whole body shudders. The heat in her gut sears through her veins until it slowly dissipates into embers as she slumps against her girlfriend. She rests her head on Yaz’s shoulder and feels the gentle press of lips against her hairline. 

“You ok?” Yaz murmurs into blonde locks as she pulls her hand from Jemma’s underwear. 

“Mhmm,” she mumbles back, mind still too foggy to form a coherent sentence.

She feels Yaz help her out of her underwear and guide her under the sheets, and soon enough they’re wrapped up in one another, her spent body melting into the mattress as she feels her mind drift toward sleep. 

* * *

_1 week later_

“So they’re done?” Jemma asks, nervously chewing on her nails.

_“They’re done, love.”_ Grace’s voice replies calmly through the receiver.

“And they’re perfect?”

_“They’re perfect, Jemma. I promise. I’ve baked these cupcakes hundreds of times. They’re my speciality.”_

“Ok, brilliant. Thank you. Can I come ‘round and get them?” she asks eagerly. 

_“You stay put. Me and Graham will bring them in a bit with the heaters and fairy lights, alright?”_

“Okay.” 

_“And you’ve got enough wood for the log burner?”_

“Loads.”

_“Right, we’ll be ‘round in a bit then. And stop biting your nails! I can hear it through the phone.”_ Grace chides, and Jemma shoves her hand in her pocket. 

“Sorry. See you in a bit Grace.”

_“See you, love.”_

Jemma huffs out a breath as she ends the call, finally pausing in her pacing around the kitchen. “It’s gonna be fine,” she says to herself, “It’s all gonna be fine.”

Half an hour later when Grace and Graham step through the door, she’s still having a freak out. “Grace, thank God you’re here because I can see everything going horribly wrong and it’s _not_ gonna be fine and she’s gonna laugh in my face and _—_ ”

“Jemma!” Hands clamping around her arms glue her to the spot. “It’s all gonna be fine, love. Come on, let’s sit you down alright? Graham, put kettle on.” 

With a swift nod, Graham follows them into the kitchen to do as instructed. 

Grace plonks Jemma down in a chair and sits in the one next to her as she takes hold of her fidgeting hands. “Jemma? Look at me.” 

Jemma hesitates for a moment before her panicked gaze lifts to find the deep, calming brown of Grace’s eyes.

“Now _—_ Yaz loves you, doesn’t she?” 

“Yes.”

“And you love her?”

“Yes.”

“And neither of you can see yourselves with anyone else?”

“It’s only her.”

“So, is there any reason why she wouldn’t say yes?”

Jemma shakes her head with a quiet, “No.”

“Well then. There you go. Nothing to worry about. Your nerves are understandable of course, anyone would be when they’re going to propose–”

“I was bloody terrified!” Graham exclaims, setting two mugs down in front of them before rounding the table with his own.

“See?” Grace chuckles.

“And I knew she’d say yes! She’d spoken about marriage and spending the rest of our lives together enough that it was pretty much a given. Don’t stop you from absolutely brickin’ it though.”

Jemma lets out a nervous laugh, letting go of one Grace’s hands to reach for her mug, blowing on it before taking a careful sip. “Thanks, Graham.”

After a quiet moment, Grace squeezes her hand to grab her attention, “So, can we see the ring?”

A smile tugs at Jemma’s lips as she nods eagerly, standing to go fetch it from when it’s hidden deep in her sock drawer.

When she sits back at the table a couple of minutes later, she gently places a plush velvet box on the table and slides it toward Grace. She takes it carefully, handling it like it’s fragile glass, a small gasp falling from her lips when she opens it.

Tucked neatly into the slot between white silk fabric is an engagement ring. Embedded in the plain silver band is an aquamarine gemstone, two small diamonds glistening on either side. Its simplicity adds to its elegance, not quite the traditional diamond, but then with Jemma, when was anything traditional.

Grace looks up at her with a watery smile, “It’s gorgeous, Jemma.” she assures, passing the box to Graham for him to take a quick look.

“Look at that,” he mutters, “If she says no Jemma she’s absolutely barking.” 

Both women laugh as Jemma takes the box back, closing it gently so as not to jostle its precious contents. 

Placing it back on the table, she asks, “Can I see the cupcakes?” 

* * *

Outside, the air is brisk as Jemma, Grace and Graham head to the end of the garden where a small patio area sits tucked away behind small shrubs and lattice fencing that weaves with the brittle stems of climbing flowers that haven’t survived the chill of autumn. 

Graham makes quick work of sweeping away dead leaves and making sure the log burner is up to scratch, ready to be lit later on while Jemma and Grace sort the portable heaters and fairy lights.

“Are you doing all this out here just so you have an excuse to cuddle up under the stars?”

Jemma’s already pink cheeks flush further, “Maybe,”

Grace chuckles as she hangs the fairy lights to swoop gently overhead, attaching them to the tops of the fencing, “You’re such a romantic.”

“I _-_ ” Jemma stammers, struggling to disagree with Grace’s frankly, valid point.

“What time is she getting back?” Grace asks, changing the subject to save Jemma’s dignity. 

“Erm,” Jemma pulls her phone from her pocket to check the time, “In a couple of hours,” she gulps, nerves building as butterflies flutter in her stomach.

Grace seems to sense her sudden change, “Hey, Jemma. Remember what we said, alright? It’s gonna be fine. It’s gonna go perfectly, yeah? And even if it doesn't, it will be perfect _because_ it didn’t go perfectly.”

Jemma chuckles quietly, nodding along with Grace’s words as she tests the fairy lights in the rapidly darkening evening. They flicker on, already warming the space they’ve created. 

“We best head off then, love. Leave you to get ready and cook. It’s gonna be great. Let us know how it goes, alright?” Grace asks, rubbing Jemma’s arm in a comforting gesture before pulling her into warm hug. 

Grace’s presence is calming, and allows Jemma’s to relax a little and for her heart to slow down in her chest. “‘Course I will.” 

“Thank you. We can let ourselves out alright? See you,” Grace calls as she blows a kiss.

“See you, Jem. Good luck!” Graham waves, and then they’re out the back gate, heading back home, leaving Jemma in the garden alone with nerves. 

After finishing up outside, Jemma is soon in the shower, using her best shampoo and conditioner, then her most expensive perfume when she finishes dressing. Her makeup is a little heavier than usual, slightly darker around her eyes, though there is a lack of eyeliner on her lids. After three attempts and nearly poking her eye out she gave up. There’s a light sheen of lip gloss painting her lips and her hair is styled straight, blonde strands tucked behind her ear to show off the ear cuff she always wears. 

She stands from the dresser to step into view of the full length mirror, straightening out the creases of her suit jacket. She shifts from side to side, giving herself a once over before finishing with a satisfied nod. It’s her first time in a suit, and it feels a little liberating after the swathes of dresses she used to wear when she was with O. She doesn’t even hate dresses now, but wearing a suit is new and exciting and _far_ more comfortable.

Tight black trousers hug her thighs perfectly, cropping just above the ankle to show off a pair of suede black brogues. On her top half, a white dress shirt fits her curves and thin black braces clip neatly over her shoulders. Resting cosily under her collar is a bowtie, black but glittering with gold specks that match the ones that twinkle in her eyes. Finally is her black jacket to match her trousers, tailored to her form flawlessly along with the rest of her suit as she buttons it up once around her middle. 

With a final once over, Jemma heads downstairs to start cooking dinner.

* * *

An hour later there’s a knock at the door, and Jemma darts to open it.

“Hi.” 

“Delivery for Jemma Masters?” 

“Yes! Thank you!” 

Gratefully accepting the bag of food, Jemma shuts the door with her foot and takes it into the kitchen. Setting it down on the counter, she pulls the cartons out of the bag and sets them in the oven on a low heat. 

It’s only a few minutes later when another knock echoes through the house. Taking a deep breath Jemma heads to door, suddenly pausing when she realises she still has an apron on. Yanking it off and draping it over a kitchen chair, she smooths out her suit. “Here we go,” she mutters to herself just before she opens the door.

“Hiya!” she beams, watching as Yaz’s gaze rakes over her form. 

“Not that I’m complaining, but what’s with the suit?” 

“For our anniversary of course,” she exclaims, pulling Yaz inside and into a soft kiss, “Happy anniversary, Yaz.” Jemma smiles against her lips.

“You already told me that this morning,” Yaz quips and Jemma pouts. 

“I know, but _—_ ”

“Happy anniversary, babe.” Yaz interrupts, leaving another kiss on her lips. “Here,” she says, pushing a bouquet of flowers into Jemma’s hands with a sheepish grin.

“Yaz,” Jemma smiles bashfully, “They’re gorgeous, thank you.” 

They head to the kitchen for Jemma to grab a vase, only for Yaz to pause at its entrance, “Erm, Jem? What _happened_ here?”

Jemma grimaces, following Yaz’s gaze around the messy room, “Um _—_ well, I really wanted to cook dinner for us to celebrate, but you know, I’m a terrible cook, so it just didn’t… go well,” she trails off, nose scrunching as her lips twist into an apologetic smile, “Sorry?”

After a moment, Yaz bursts out laughing and Jemma’s worry dissolves into relief as her girlfriend hugs her from behind while she sorts out her flowers. “You are a terrible cook. I don’t know why you tried. So what’s the plan instead?” 

“I ordered chinese. It’s keeping warm in the oven.”

“Did you get _–_ ”

“Spring rolls? ‘Course I did.”

“ _Ugh,_ yes. I love you.” Yaz presses a kiss to her cheek before moving away, “Let me go change into something a little smarter, ok? Though I _really_ don’t think I’m gonna beat that suit. You look incredible, Jem. Seriously.” Her smile is genuine and her eyes adoring as she glances over Jemma’s lithe form. She can’t help but blush at the attention. 

“Make sure you put on something warm, babe!” Jemma calls up the stairs, “We’re sitting outside to eat.”

“What?!”

* * *

The air is crisp and the breeze light when they step outside hand in hand. Yaz shivers a little next to Jemma and she pulls her closer as they head toward the end of the garden. When they round the corner onto the patio, Yaz lets out a quiet gasp.

Fairy lights twinkle above them where they hang loosely above their heads as well as wrapping through the lattice of the fence surrounding them. Blankets are stacked in a spare chair in the corner, the log burner emitting heat and light around them as it burns bright into the evening, wood crackling behind the metal grating. Smoke plumes lightly from the small chimney of the burner, the smell of ashy wood wafting around them and adding to the cosiness of the little bubble Jemma has created for them. 

“Jem,” Yaz breathes, “This is amazing. Did you do all this yourself?”

“Well,” Jemma tilts her head and scrunches her nose, “I had a little help from Grace and Graham.”

“You didn’t have to go to all this trouble for–”

“‘Course I did,” Jemma shrugs, “I love you.”

Yaz practically melts, features softening as a cool hand comes up to cup Jemma’s cheek and pull her close, “I love you too.” Yaz whispers against her lips before brushing them lightly together, then more fully.

“You wait here, and I’ll go get the food.”

Together, the two of them demolish the takeaway over Jemma’s glass of wine and Yaz’s glass of lemonade. Yaz manages to finish off the spring rolls, Jemma feeding her one after practically no convincing to finish the last one off. 

While they let their food digest, they clean up, flick on the portable heaters, and snuggle under the blankets while they stargaze. Jemma rests her head on Yaz’s shoulder, their hands weaving together under the blankets as they sit in content silence for a short while. It’s the most relaxed Jemma has felt all day.

“Thanks for this, Jem.” Yaz speaks quietly, pressing a delicate kiss to blonde locks, “Best anniversary I’ve ever had.”

Jemma lifts her head then, finding Yaz’s gaze with a grin, “And it’s about to get even better, wait here.”

Jumping from her chair, she heads inside to grab the box of cupcakes. Before making her way back outside, Jemma checks her inside pocket, letting out a sigh of relief at the feel of the small box protruding inside it. “This is it,” she whispers to herself, and steps out the back door.

“What is that?” Yaz asks when Jemma places the box on the table, “Is it a cake or something?” she stands to peer at the pastel pink box, glancing Jemma’s way as confusion creases her features. 

Swallowing the lump in her throat, Jemma gestures to the box, “Open it.”

Yaz sends her playful glare, “Why?”

“Just, open it,” she smiles.

“Hmm, ok,” Yaz’s back turns as she goes to open the box, “I swear Jem if this is a cake with some sort of rude picture on I _—_ ” Yaz pauses, eyes darting over the writing on the cupcakes over and over. Spelt out, a cupcake to a letter in icing are the words, “Will you marry _—_ ” 

Yaz spins around, doe-eyed and lacking air in her lungs when she finds Jemma down on one knee, hand pulling a little red box from her pocket.

“Jemma, what _—_ ”

“Yaz, I love you.” Jemma blurts out, her voice as shaky as her hands when she fiddles with the box to pry it open. 

Yaz gasps when Jemma succeeds, the gem of the ring sparkling in the warmth of the fire and the lights hanging above. 

Taking in another breath and licking her dry lips, Jemma pushes on, “I love you, so much it hurts. I didn’t think it was actually possible to love someone as much as I love you.” 

Yaz laughs, and it's watery, tears already shining in her eyes. It's contagious in the moment, Jemma’s own eyes fogging as she blinks the sheen of tears away. She wants to see Yaz’s face for this, burn the memory into her brain forever. 

She clears her throat and licks her lips again, hands still shaking where they hold the box out in front of her, “Sorry, I’m just really nerv _—_ ”

“Hey, hey, it’s ok,” Yaz assures, stepping forward to cup one hand under Jemma’s to cease the light tremble, the other seeking her cheek, cupping it gently as her thumb rubs lightly over her cheekbone, “Keep going,” she breathes, eyes shining. 

“Yaz, this time last year I made the second best decision of my life. The first one being when I kissed you. I bit the bullet, came ‘round here and well–”

“We did a lot more than kissing.”

“Yeah,” Jemma laughs. “But as strange as the circumstances were, I don’t regret a thing. I’d do it all again exactly the same as long as it meant I ended up with you. The good parts _and_ the bad parts.” Taking another breath, her voice starts to waver, raw emotion clogging up her throat, “I love every single piece of you, Yaz. And that’s how I know I wanna spend the rest of my life with you. You shine so bright you put the stars to shame.” 

She catches the glint of a tear trickling down Yaz’s face as it rolls over her cheek where it’s pulled tight in a beaming smile. 

“I know it’s only been a year, but I don’t care. I’m so in love with you and I think that’s all that matters. So, um _—_ ” Jemma lets out a shaky breath, the final words catching in her throat at the last second.

“Ask me,” Yaz utters, and Jemma feels her confidence rush back. 

She can embark on the question of a lifetime now, and she knows what the answer will be.

“Yasmin Khan _—_ I love you. Will you marry me?”

“Yes.” 

It’s one simple word. One simple word said so easily and with such confidence that Jemma can’t stop the sob that breaks past her lips as Yaz drops to her knees to meet her. “Yeah?” she whimpers as she pulls the ring out the box with shaking hands.

“Yes, Jem. Thirteen times, yes.” she promises as the ring slides perfectly onto her finger.

“Thirteen?” Jemma asks through a watery laugh.

“It’s my lucky number,” Yaz says as she leans in, her lips meeting Jemma’s in a wanton kiss, every strand of built up emotion pouring into it as they cling to each other, barely coming up for air. “I love you,” she sighs against Jemma’s lips when they finally pull apart. 

“I love you too.”

A quiet moment of contentment settles between the two women before Yaz stands, her newly decorated hand clasping gently in Jemma’s as she pulls her up. “Now, shall we go upstairs, fiancée?”

* * *

The journey their bedroom is tense, hands clasped tight as a silence envelopes them all the way until Yaz closes the door behind them. When she turns back, her hands find Jemma’s hips as she holds her at arm's length, gaze roaming over her form with barely contained hunger. 

“I don’t think I’ve appreciated this enough tonight,” Yaz admits, dragging her bottom lip between her teeth, “You look amazing in a suit, Jem.” Her fingers hook under the thin black braces over Jemma’s chest, inching her closer as they run up and down the fabric. Yaz glances toward the gold speckled accessory around her neck. “And of _course_ you suit a bowtie.”

Jemma chuckles as she reaches out to find the find buttons of Yaz’s shirt, “Bowties are cool.”

“Only on you, babe.” Yaz retorts, hands slinking toward the accessory, slowly pulling it loose, top button following suit. Sucking in a breath, Yaz’s fingers slip under the collar to trace Jemma’s clavicle, her breath catching at the cool touch, both of them yet to warm from the outside air, “I think I prefer this look.” 

When Jemma catches Yaz’s gaze, there is only a slither of brown left in her eyes, consumed by the blackness of her pupils and the desire so openly swirling within them. 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, way sexier.” 

“I’ll take note.” 

“Prefer you out of this suit entirely, though. As much as I love it.”

“Hmm, ok,” Jemma breathes, nudging her nose against her fiancée’s, “Wanna help me out of it then?”

Yaz brushes the lightest kiss against Jemma’s lips, “Yes I do.” she says as she pushes Jemma back until her calves hit the bed and she drops down onto it. Kicking her brogues off, Yaz does the same with boots, shrugging her jacket off at the same before cupping Jemma’s face and leaning down to press a lingering kiss to her lips, slow and teasing with a promise for so much more. It leaves Jemma breathless.

Standing above her, Yaz’s hands slip under Jemma’s jacket, tugging it gently from her shoulders, her braces following as they drop loosely against the bed. The next to go is the bowtie as it slips loosely from around Jemma’s neck, Yaz sticking it in her back pocket. 

When she starts unbuttoning the rest of Jemma’s shirt, she helps out, working from the bottom until they meet in the middle where Yaz’s hands slide underneath the fabric and slip it smoothly from her shoulders to reveal a white lace bralette hugging her chest. 

Her trousers are next to go, Yaz pushing her down into the mattress by her shoulder before unclasping the fastening and dragging the trousers down Jemma’s legs painfully slowly until she’s left in nothing but her underwear. 

“You’re so beautiful, Jemma.” Yaz speaks into the room, gaze taking in every inch of her form as she shrugs off her own shirt. “Lie back,” The request is gentle and Jemma is putty in her hands as she shuffles up the bed until her head meets the pillows.

Yaz rounds the bed, sitting at Jemma’s side as a hand rests on her stomach and making the muscles of Jemma’s abdomen twitch, “I want you to feel everything tonight, Jem.” Yaz states, shifting to pull the bowtie from her back pocket, and dangling it in the air between them. “I want to blindfold you for now, is that ok?” she asks, eyes full of patience and understanding. It’s not something they’ve done before, but in the moment, Jemma wants nothing more.

She nods her head in confirmation.

“I need to hear you say it, babe.”

Jemma’s breath stutters as she swallows hard, heat pooling deep in her gut, “I want you to blindfold me.” 

Yaz leans over her then, taking each end of the bowtie in her hands as Jemma lifts her head for Yazs to tie it at the back. “Is that ok?”

“Yes.” 

“Safeword?”

“Pears.”

Everything is black, and Jemma feels her other senses heighten, her skin practically buzzing in anticipation of Yaz’s touch, her own breathing louder in her ears when it picks up, the heat between her legs burning hotter and hotter. 

When Yaz straddles her, she can feel bare thighs against her own, and as her hands move to feel for them, they come into contact with the barrier of underwear. Though suddenly a question pops into Jemma’s head and she has no qualms about voicing it, “Can I still touch you?” she asks, because with a lack of sight, the feel of Yaz under her hands is grounding. 

“Of course you can.” Yaz replies, hands finding Jemma’s own and giving them a gentle, encouraging squeeze. 

When Yaz next touches her, it’s her fingers ghosting along her stomach, the touch so featherlight and surprising that it makes Jemma’s hips jump and her breath catch until she feels the more significant pressure of her palms sliding up towards her chest, cupping her through the thin lace of her bralette. Hands sliding around her back, Yaz unclips the bralette, pulling it away gently until the feel of it is gone and the cool air of the room sweeps over her chest. 

A thumb grazes across Jemma’s already pebbled nipples, and she gasps as she arches into the touch, her hands gripping into Yaz’s toned thighs. Jemma can sense Yaz in close proximity, her confirmation in the gentle breath ghosting the shell of her ear before Yaz speaks, “Jemma?” 

“Yeah?”

“Are you gonna be good for me?”

Her exhale shudders, “Yes. So good, I promise I’ll be good.”

Yaz presses the lightest of kisses to the sensitive skin behind Jemma’s ear, “Touch yourself for me.”

Jemma can already feel how damp she is against her underwear as her thighs press together at the request, her hand relinquishing its grip on Yaz’s thigh to sink past her underwear and into burning heat. She gasps at the feel of how wet she is, how sensitive she is now everything feels twice much with a lack of sight. She glides her fingers through her folds, squirming under the weight of Yaz’s body as she touches herself. 

“That’s it,” Yaz praises, “Good girl.”

Jemma whines at the praise and feels the heat in gut scorch her insides as goosebumps rise on her flesh. 

Yaz’s lips find her neck next, leaving hot kisses under her jaw and trailing down, lapping at her pulse point before biting the skin below it, tugging the sensitive flesh between her teeth. It has Jemma crying out, the feeling sharp enough to know it will leave a mark as Yaz’s lips venture further, peppering kisses along her collarbone and down between her breasts before taking a pert nipple into her mouth. It’s hot and wet and the feeling of someone on her chest and between her legs has Jemma trying to writhe in the sheets, her free hand flying into Yaz’s hair to curl in dark tresses. 

Her underwear starts to feel far too constricting as she runs her fingers over herself at an increasing pace, slick sounds of her ministrations clear to both of them. 

“Off,” she pants, hips wriggling under Yaz. 

“Huh?” Yaz pauses, mouth coming away from Jemma’s chest.

“Underwear,” Jemma continues, her arousal making it difficult to form full sentences, “Take it off. Please,” she moans when she presses harder against her clit. 

Sitting up, Yaz’s fingers hook under the elastic to peel the sticky fabric away from her core and Jemma sighs in relief as her fingers slide easily through slippery heat.

“God, Jem, you’re soaked.”

“Yaz _—_ I need you. I need it to be you touching me, _please._ ” Jemma begs now she’s exposed to the room. 

Shifting her person, Jemma feels her legs being bent as Yaz moves between her legs, the anticipation of her touch sucking the air from Jemma’s lungs. When her own wet fingers are moved away, the next thing she feels is the wet warmth of Yaz’s mouth around her fingers, her tongue licking each digit clean before pulling them from between her lips with a quiet pop. 

Jemma’s whole body thrums at the feeling, at the desperate need for Yaz to touch her _—_ so, when she finally does, her hips kick up as a single digit runs through her heat from her clit to her entrance. After so much build up, Jemma can feel herself quivering under Yaz’s touch, clenching around nothing as her climax reaches touching distance. 

“Yaz _—_ Yaz I’m so close, please, I–”

“Hold on, Jem,”

“Yaz I can’t I–”

“You can,” she assures, thumb circling her clit as her free hand moves up to her breast, fingers pinching a nipple and making Jemma moan loudly as her thighs clamp around Yaz’s hips and her hands scrabble for purchase _—_ one finding the sheets, the other finding Yaz’s hand on her chest and encouraging her to squeeze harder.

“Yaz please, _please,_ I can’t I’m gonna _—_ ”

“Ok, baby,” she allows, rubbing her clit harder and faster as Jemma squirms against the mattress, “Come for me then like a good girl.”

Jemma’s hips keen off the bed when she comes, her moans filling the rooms as Yaz continues to touch her and draw out her climax. She can hear the blood pumping through her ears and her heart slamming against her ribcage, her senses going wild as she shivers under Yaz’s fingertips. When she falls back into the sheets, Yaz pulls her hands away, one of them moving to lift Jemma’s head as she pulls loose the tie at the back of her head. 

Blinking back into the room, Jemma takes in the sight of Yaz hovering over her, a smirk pulling at her lips as she cups her cheek, thumb running over the jut of her cheekbone. “You ok?”

Jemma nods lazily as black spots clear from the sides of her vision, eyes getting used to the moonlight pouring through the slits in the blinds, “Yeah,” she sighs, her knuckles brushing along Yaz’s jawline.

“And that was alright? What we just did?”

“So much more than alright. You can do that again,” she chuckles, and Yaz laughs with her before closing the gap between their lips in a gentle kiss. 

“Good, because I’m not done.”

Jemma’s eyes widen at the insinuation as Yaz pulls away to dip into the drawer of the bedside table next to them, her mouth going dry at what Yaz pulls out. “Do you want this, babe?” 

Jemma nods rapidly, the match striking once more in her gut, “Yes.”

Stripping herself of her underwear, Yaz slides the harness up her legs, tightening it as she kneels on the bed, shuffling to slot herself between Jemma’s legs. Once the harness is fit snugly against her hips, Yaz dips her head until her lips are barely brushing against Jemma’s. “I wanted you to be able to see for this,” she whispers, kissing Jemma lightly. Her lips starting to venture lower, ghosting along her jaw and down her neck, sucking marks into sensitive flesh as Jemma squirms underneath her. 

Before she reaches Jemma’s chest, Yaz rises up on her knees between her legs, clasping a hand around her thigh as she grabs the base of the toy resting around her hips and runs the tip of it through Jemma’s core. She sighs as her head falls back in the pillows, eye fluttering shut as her hips roll into the feeling. 

“Open your eyes, babe.” she hears, and forces them open to catch Yaz’s deep, blown out gaze.

It takes effort to stop them falling the shut, the teasing sensation of the toy gliding through her folds sending gentle waves of pleasure through her body. By the time Yaz stops her ministrations, the silicone is slick along its length with Jemma’s arousal, and she jumps when it taps against her clit. It forces a whine from Jemma’s lips as the heat between her legs and coiling in her gut blazes with the need for Yaz to fill her.

“Yaz,” she moans, “Please, I need you.”

“Tell me how much you need me.”

“So much. So _so_ much _—_ _please._ Yaz, I love you so much, I need you so badly I _—_ _ah!_ ”

Yaz slips the toy slowly past her entrance, a quiet groan leaving her lips as she does while Jemma moans breathily, her hips rising to take more of her inside. When she presses in to the hilt, Yaz finds Jemma’s hand, linking their fingers together on the sheets as she takes in the sight before her. 

Jemma’s hair is ruffled at the back, chest heaving and a light sheen of sweat glistening across her form in the rays of moonlight. Her pupils are just as blown as Yaz’s as she desperately rocks her hips to chase the movement she’s craving. 

Starting off with slower thrusts, Yaz brushes the toy along Jemma’s inner walls as she pushes in as deep as the toy will go. Jemma moans loudly with each thrust, rolling her hips slowly to match Yaz’s pace. 

“God, Jem, I love you so much. Do you know how good you look?” Yaz groans as she changes the angle of her hips.

“Oh _— fuck_ ,” Jemma whines, eyes clamping shut briefly when Yaz hits a spot deep inside that has her thighs quivering, “Right there, Yaz, _please._ ”

Yaz hits the same spot over and over, Jemma’s moans getting increasingly louder as she fucks her slow and deep to the point where her grip on Yaz’s hand tightens and she starts clenching around the toy inside her. 

“ _God_ _—_ Yaz, I’m close,” she pants, whining when Yaz suddenly pulls out and rolls onto her back. 

“Get on top of me, baby,” she coos, helping Jemma up to straddle her thighs as she rests one hand on Yaz’s toned stomach while the other guides herself to sink down onto the toy. She breathes out a long moan as it fills her. It feels deeper than before as she adjusts to it, starting to rock against it slowly.

The different angle hits her with new sensations as she grinds into Yaz’s lap, her orgasm seconds away from crashing into her. By the time it hits her, her vocabulary has dwindled down to only Yaz’s names as she crests, shuddering on top of Yaz as her fiancée’s hands help her rock against the toy and drag out her pleasure for as long as possible. 

When Jemma finally calms down, she falls forward to slump against Yaz, panting heavily against the other woman. She can feel Yaz’s heart thudding against her chest just as fast as her own, giving her the incentive to lift her head and seek her lips. She finds them, slipping her tongue into Yaz’s mouth in a lazy kiss until her lungs protest, though she barely pulls back, “I love you.” 

Yaz presses a butterfly kiss to her lips, “Love you too.” 

She helps Jemma rise off the toy, and she can’t help but whine as she nears over sensitivity. Sitting between Yaz’s legs, she helps peels away the harness before looking up at her through hooded lids as she moves to lie between her legs. 

“God, yes,” Yaz breathes out, hand knotting in Jemma’s hair and holding it out the way as she licks up Yaz’s dripping core. 

Jemma practically groans at the taste, smirking when she lifts her head for a moment, “You’re so wet, babe,” 

“If you could’ve seen yourself Jem you’d _—_ _oh,”_

Jemma’s tongue strokes broadly through Yaz’s folds, lapping up her arousal and using her hands to hold Yaz’s hips in place.

She lathes her tongue through silken heat, pressing lightly past her entrance before focusing on Yaz’s clit, taking the swollen bud between her lips and sucking as her tongue flicks rapidly. Yaz writhes against the sheets, panting heavily as her free hand grips the pillow next to her head and her eyes slam shut. 

“God, Jem, don’t stop _—_ you’re so good don’t stop, don’t _—_ ”

Yaz’s jaw slakens as she moans deeply, and Jemma feels her come hard against her mouth while she laps up a rush of liquid with the tip of her tongue. Her strong hips push past the force of Jemma’s hands, jolting up and rocking against her as she rides out her orgasm until she falls back against the mattress. 

Jemma climbs up Yaz’s form, licking her lips when Yaz’s eyes flutter open and the woman beneath her groans at the sight. She leans down to kiss Yaz lovingly, smiling against her mouth as they gently move against each other until she’s smiling too much to kiss her properly.

“You’re my fiancée,” Jemma says bashfully and Yaz laughs breezily in response.

“And you’re mine, and I love you so much.”

“I love you too.”

* * *

Hands intertwined and wrapped up warm, Jemma raps her knuckles against the door of the O’Brien household. 

The door swings open to the sight of Grace, whose eyes are wide with anticipation. 

“Well?!”

Yaz lifts her hand to show off the ring sitting perfectly on her finger and Grace practically squeals, drawing them both into a hug. “What did I tell you, love?” she mumbles in Jemma’s ear and she chuckles as she hugs Grace back.

“I know, I know.”

Pulling away, Grace rests her hands on a shoulder each, “Now come inside, I want to hear everything,” her gaze briefly falls to Jemma’s neck, “Well _—_ almost everything, some parts you can keep to yourself.”

Yaz bursts out laughing as Jemma looks at her in confusion, “Probably should’ve worn your scarf, babe.”

When realisation hits her, a hand slaps over the marks Yaz left the night before and her cheeks flush, though it’s not from the cold autumn air.

“Come on, girls!” Grace calls from inside the house, “You’re letting the heat out!”

Yaz gestures from Jemma to go first, following suit and shutting the door gently behind her. 

**Author's Note:**

> kudos and comments give me life <3


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